Living in Sanctuary
by Nixa Jane
Summary: This is an AU in which Mary never died, and Dean and Sam grew up with two very different lives. Now with the demon on the way, the Winchesters need to get back together.
1. The Veil

Prologue: 

_The first thing he felt was the fire. _

_The room was silent and still, nothing was burning, but he could feel the heat anyway--all the way down to his bones. Faint laughter was coming from somewhere, and there was another room down the hall. It was a kitchen, with white wooden cupboards that had flowers painted on all the corners and vases of roses on the counters, and standing leaning against the sink was a woman he would never forget. _

_His mother. Still beautiful, undeniably, but with a few more lines around the eyes, a bit of grey hair falling from the mostly golden ponytail, and sitting at the table wearing the same wry grin she was there was a young man, in a black t-shirt and jeans and boots, a strange pendant hanging around his neck. _

_He opened his mouth to talk to them, but closed it when he realized he wasn't really there. _

_It got cold before it got hotter, a sharp freezing instant and then the laughter faded into screams, and his mother was slamming into the wall, crawling up, slowly, slowly, higher--_

_And the man with her tried to stop it, but there was nothing he could do._

Sam woke screaming just as the fire came in. 

John was already there, gripping him at the shoulders, intense eyes wide-awake like it wasn't three in the morning, and a scream hadn't just startled him awake. For all Sam knew, maybe it hadn't, he had his suspicions that his father never slept at all.

"What did you see?" he asked. Not 'are you alright?' but Sam was used to this, he was better than the newspapers and the Internet and the contacts and the stories, because reporters can get things wrong, but he never did.

What he saw will happen, had happened, was happening; unless they could stop it. It was rare they made it in time.

"Mom," he told him, breathing heavily, still dizzy from the smell of imaginary smoke.

John's eyes didn't soften or light up the way they usually did at the mention of Mary, they looked a little terrified, instead. "What did you see?" he asked again.

"I think the demon is going after her," Sam said, and the words catch a little in his throat.

John let his shoulders go, his hands falling to his sides as he stands. "Are you certain it was her?" he asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "And there was no baby. It doesn't make sense that it would go after her if it wasn't--"

"Was she alone?" John demanded. He was all soldier now. Dad was never present on the hunts; he made his appearance less and less the last few weeks, the closer they got to what they were searching for.

"No," Sam said, closing his eyes. He pictured the young man again, smiling brightly, and he knew without ever having met him who it was. "I think Dean was with her. I think...I think Dean is what it's after."

"Dean?" John said, sounding sick. "No, it wouldn't, it was never--"

"We have to find them," Sam told him. "I know you said it was too dangerous to look for them, but it's coming for them, I can feel it, and we have to find them first."

John nodded. "Start packing," he said, before turning to do the same.

Sam pushed the covers back, shaking off the residual panic he still felt tingling in his limbs from the dream, and started throwing everything he owned into his duffle bag. "Where will we start? They could be anywhere."

John paused briefly, enough that Sam noticed, and he watched him with narrowed eyes as he started packing again. "Dad?"

"I know where they are," he said quietly. He reached into his bag and pulled a photo out, before handing it to Sam.

Sam looked at it, not entirely believing what he saw. It was them. His mother and Dean, looking just like they had in his dream, sitting together on the porch of some ordinary house. "You've known," he said, and he could feel the anger surging up, along with something like betrayal. "You've known where they were all this time and you never said anything--"

"We had to stay away," John snapped. "You know that. We couldn't put them in danger."

Sam felt the world narrow in. He meant that they weren't safe with Sam. Sam was marked. Hunted. Dangerous. He'd been told that all his life.

"Things have changed," John said, softer this time, like he still believed he could make everything alright again, like he thought maybe Sam could even remember when it was. "It's time we get this family back together.

* * *

Chapter One: The Veil

"You're a little old to be giving me the silent treatment, Sammy," John said, as he pulled the Impala out onto the highway.

"It's Sam," he snapped. "And I just can't believe this. You could have at least told me, let me know they're alright--"

"You would have wanted to see them," John said.

"Damn straight!" Sam yelled. "They're my family!" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "And I don't even know them."

John frowned. "You know why it had to be this way," he said.

"Yeah," Sam said bitterly. "Because I would have gotten them killed."

"None of this is your fault," John said firmly, but he kept his eyes on the road. "You get that straight right now."

"I know the story," Sam said, leaning in the seat. "I was the cursed baby."

"You blame those babies we've saved for the mothers we didn't get to in time?" John snapped.

Sam glared at him. "Of course not."

"Then don't blame yourself," he said. "I sent Dean and your mother away because I needed to hide you to keep you safe, and I could do that better if I wasn't worrying about them too. It wasn't easy, but it was the right thing to do."

"They're in trouble now anyway," Sam said, tapping his fingers nervously on his knees.

"Nothing's going to touch them," John said, with a kind of deadly calm. "We're Winchesters, Sammy. Nothing's gonna touch any of us. "

-----

"Are you getting this from some kind of mother's handbook, or something?"

Mary grinned and slapped Dean upside the head, before dropping a mug of coffee in front of him. He smiled back unrepentantly. "I just asked if you were seeing anyone," she said. "It's a mother's prerogative to know these things."

Dean laughed and shook his head. "No, I'm not seeing anyone. Not exactly, anyway."

Mary winced. "Oh, Dean. Nevermind. I probably don't want to know. It's enough that I have to deal with all the neighbors."

Dean grinned. "That calendar still going around then?"

"Margery had your month laminated and framed on the wall," Mary said wryly.

"It was for charity," Dean said, sweetly, and not fooling her for a minute. "The fire department does one every year."

"It's not every year it's my baby half dressed on the cover," Mary said, but she was still smiling. "How is work going?"

"There are no fires in this town," Dean said. "I don't know whether to be grateful or bored."

"Be grateful," Mary said, a little shakily, and Dean glanced away.

He knew she wasn't exactly happy with his chosen line of work, considering what had happened when he was a child, but Dean had wanted to be a fireman since that same night, when one of the men had set him in the fire truck and let him wear his hat.

"Anyway," Dean said, "I did save a kitten yesterday. You would have been proud."

Mary laughed. "I heard about that. Ally was very impressed with the rescue--she says she's going to marry you some day."

"She'll get over it," Dean said, laughing. "Eight year olds are so fickle."

Mary poured herself some more coffee. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Can't," Dean said. "I have a date."

Mary took a sip of her coffee. "Anyone I know?"

Dean flashed her an innocent grin. "She's not exactly the kind of girl I'd bring home."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Where did I go wrong with you?"

-----

Sam felt as nervous as he'd been in ten years as they pulled up beside the quiet house. It was exactly like the picture; the lawn was well tended, none of the paint was peeling, there wasn't a vacancy sign hovering twenty feet above the door. It was an actual home.

Sam had very little experience with them.

John got out of the car first, and Sam followed, in a wary kind of truce with him that had started two states back, when they had run out of things to say, or yell. He didn't usually fight with his father, but when he did, it was usually pretty damn serious.

John went to the trunk, pulled up the trap door and reached for a sawed off shotgun. He grabbed up some rock salt shell casings and glanced at Sam. "It might already be here," he explained.

Sam reached for another shotgun, thinking distantly that this is not how it should be. People didn't go to family reunions armed.

John loaded the weapon without looking at him. "We go in, get them, and get them out. We'll save the introductions for later."

Sam blinked at him. "They don't know we're coming," he said. "We can't just--"

"We're not taking any chances," John said. "I almost lost my family to this demon once already. It's not getting that close to us ever again. You understand that, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Sam said.

John nodded, like that was an agreement, or something, and then marched up the walkway towards the door. Sam followed him, shotgun held loose at his side, and he saw the curtains in the window next-door slip open, before closing the minute he looked up. It was dark enough that the guns couldn't be seen, and Sam hoped the neighbor didn't think to call the police.

There was a key under the mat. "I told her a hundred times not to leave a key under the door," John muttered. "She was like you. Never listened to a word I said."

Sam watched him warily, because he sounded more fond than angry, as he placed the key in the door and opened it slowly. "Shouldn't we knock?" he asked.

"If something else is here with them, we don't want it knowing until it's too late," John whispered, and then stepped into the darkened entryway.

Sam followed him close behind. He recognized this place. The kitchen was to the right. He could see the light on in the room and he tapped his father's shoulder, motioning him to it. John nodded and slipped in front of him, taking point.

They were three feet from the kitchen when the light went out. John froze in front of him, instantly on his guard, and Sam spun around as he felt a presence behind him. He was slamming into a wall before he could think to call out a warning to his father, and the shotgun was pulled from his hands.

"You came into the wrong house, buddy," he heard someone say, but then John was there, pulling the guy off him, and throwing him to the ground. Sam saw a flash of light bounce of a pendant on the man's neck just as realization sunk in, but before he could call his father off he'd already aimed the shotgun at him.

The lights flashed back on.

It was Dean on the ground, wearing the same clothes he had been in Sam's dream, staring up at them like they were the scum of the Earth, right up until the moment he finally saw John. "Oh god," he said, and John lowered the shotgun shakily, just as Mary appeared in the doorway.

"Get away from--" she shouted, before paling like the rest of them, all of them, every last one, looked like they'd seen a ghost. "John?"

John almost lost his grip on the gun, but years of training kept it in his hands. "Mary," he said, and Sam thought his voice sounded strange, not at all like his father, or maybe exactly like the father he'd never really met. "Oh, god, Mary--"

Mary grabbed him at the same time he reached out, and Sam wondered distantly what the hell had happened to saving the introductions for later. He glanced back over at his brother, who was watching their parents with confusion, and staggering to his feet. Sam noticed that he still had his shotgun in his hands.

He'd get a lecture for it, he was sure. Winchesters weren't supposed to be taken by surprise. He wondered if he'd be forgiven considering it was a Winchester that had caught him off his guard.

Dean stood there warily, his eyes darting between John and Sam. He held that gun like he knew how to use it. Sam opened his mouth to try and say something, like maybe, _hi, nice to meet you, I'm your brother_, but his voice wasn't working.

"What the hell is this?" Dean said finally. He held up the shotgun like an accusation, and Mary and John finally pulled away from each other long enough to notice they weren't the only ones there. 

"Dean," John said, sounding like he was caught in some kind of dream, but Dean looked anything but pleased to see them.

"Yeah," he said. "And you would be my estranged father, right? Nice to meet you. Now, you want to tell me why the hell you just broke in here with _shotguns_?"

"Dean, it's okay," Mary said, stepping forward, before catching sight of Sam. "Sam? Sam is that you?" 

Sam glanced over at her, noticing the way Dean stilled as he looked back over at him, as though it was just now starting to click.

"Sammy?" he echoed, sounding young suddenly, but he still didn't move.

Mary grabbed him, hugging him, and sobbing, and Sam didn't know how to respond. He tried to hug her back, but he'd never been very good at it, and when all he could think to say was 'hi' he felt like an idiot.

Mary pulled away again, wiping at her eyes, and turning back to John. Now that the shock was fading, Sam noticed she looked almost as angry as Dean. "You bastard," she said. "God, it's been twenty-two years, you never called, not once, I thought you were i dead /i ."

John swallowed, trying to get himself together. Sam knew this wasn't the neat way he'd had this night planned. "It wasn't safe," he said. "And it's not safe now either. We came to get you both out of here."

"Get us out of here," Dean said dubiously. "Are you people insane? We're not going anywhere with you."

Mary winced a little, and John turned her, looking disbelieving. "What did you tell him?" he asked.

"I didn't know if you were ever coming back, John," she said. "I didn't know where you were. You said two months, and you'd find me--and you never did, I didn't...I thought--"

"It was too close," John said softly. "I couldn't risk it."

"Couldn't risk what?" Dean demanded. "What are you talking about?"

John glanced at him. "We'll explain later," he said, before looking back at Mary. "Grab some clothes, anything you can't part with, pictures, whatever. We're not coming back." John reached over and pulled the shotgun out of Dean's hands, before returning it to Sam. "Now," he said.

Dean snorted. "Wow. Crazy doesn't begin to cover it, does it?"

Mary looked distracted. "You still have some clothes in your old room, Dean," she said.

Dean looked at her, disbelieving. "You're not serious," he said.

"Something is coming after us," she said. "John wouldn't be here otherwise. We can't stay."

"Some_thing_," Dean repeated, looking between them all. His gaze lingered on Sam for a moment, silent against the wall, holding the shotgun like it was his teddy bear.

"We don't have time for this," John said. "Sam, get your brother to the car. Mary and I will grab the clothes." 

"Look, I don't know what's going on here," Dean said, "but I'm not going anywhere."

"Dean, please," Mary said. "I'll explain, I promise. I'm not happy about this either, but I know your father, and he--"

"He's not my father," Dean snapped. "I don't have one."

John's expression tightened and Sam stayed still, thinking that this couldn't go much worse. He'd thought about meeting his brother and his mother about a hundred times, but they were happy childish fantasies, and Sam, of all people, should have known it wasn't how the world worked.

John stepped up to Dean, staring him down. "Your mother is coming with me. Your brother is. Maybe you don't give a damn about me, kid, but are you going to lose your chance with them?"

Dean glared at him. "I already lost my chance with my brother, thanks to you."

"You're getting another one," Mary said, quietly. "If you want to leave later, we can't stop you--" John shot her a look that stated clearly his thoughts on that, but Mary kept speaking. "At least give us a chance to explain."

Dean looked like he was faltering, and John nodded at Sam. "Get him to the car," he said, and then he and Mary took off up the stairs.

Dean and Sam shared a look after their parents had disappeared up the stairs, and Sam swallowed, feeling uncomfortable under his brother's gaze. "It's an Impala," he said. "67. Uh...you like cars?"

Dean gave a kind of half-hearted grin. "An Impala, huh? Well, why didn't you say so?"

Sam gave a nervous laugh. "I'm Sam," he said, holding out his hand.

Dean took it. "Yeah, I know," he said. "And I'm Dean. Which you know." He let his eyes stray up. "Why the hell are you so tall?"

Sam bit his lip. "Good genes, I guess," he said.

Dean threw him a full-blown grin, that time. "Well at least I'm the handsome one."

Sam smiled back, thinking that wow, this was what brothers did, and then John and Mary were rushing back down the stairs, and Dean's smile faded. "I thought I told you to get him in the car, Sam," John snapped.

Dean glared at him. "Well 'he' isn't exactly willing to be dragged anywhere, so don't blame Sam."

Sam looked at Dean sideways, wondering at the way he spoke to John Winchester. It made sense, he supposed, because Dean didn't know him, so he couldn't know he probably shouldn't mouth off; and it was a weird feeling, having someone stick up for him.

John glared at Dean, and then glanced at Mary. "Can you handle him?"

"Handle me?" Dean snapped. "Just where the hell do you get off--"

"Dean, honey," Mary said. "Shut up and get your ass in the car."

Dean's eyes widened. "In case you've forgotten, I'm _twenty-six_, and I--"

"Now, Dean, we might not have much time." 

John motioned Sam to lead the way, and Sam glanced back, watching as Dean shrugged away from his mother's reaching hand and stalked from the house. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why they couldn't just tell Dean what was coming for him, but he learned a long time ago that people that didn't know wouldn't understand until they saw it with their own eyes.


	2. Home Sweet Home

Note: Thank you to everyone for the encouraging reviews! I'm going to be trying to update regularly with this story, and hopefully get it finished before too long.

* * *

Chapter Two: Home Sweet Home

"I had a date tonight, you know," Dean said.

Sam watched John's fingers tighten even further around the steering wheel. Eighty miles, and Dean hadn't stopped bitching since they got in the car. If Sam had tried that, John would have exploded long before now.

Dean was slouched beside him in the backseat, casting odd glances at the shotgun that rested in Sam's lap every once and awhile, and accusing glances at his parents for the rest. Both of them had started ignoring him. Sam suspected it was because they didn't know what to say.

Sam would have tried to start a conversation with him, but he didn't know what he would say either, maybe something like _I've never actually been on a date myself, though at fourteen I did lose my virginity to a waitress in Alabama. Can't remember her name, but she made the best sundaes in three states._

Dean made a sound of frustration low in his throat, and leaned his head back against the seat, before glaring at the roof of the car. "Are you even going to _tell_ me what's going on?" he snapped. "What happened to the 'oh, we'll explain everything' lure you used to get me here?"

Sam took a deep breath, deciding that if no one else spoke up, it fell to him. He's used to responsibility and this was all his fault, anyway. "You remember the fire?" he asked quietly.

Dean looked at him, a little startled, like he'd forgotten he was there, and nodded.

John's fingers went tighter around the wheel, until his knuckles were white. "Sam," he snapped.

"The thing that set it is coming back for you," Sam continued.

"The thing that set it," Dean repeated. "Would this thing be an arsonist, by any chance? A psycho arsonist that waited twenty-two years and thought, hey, lets try and burn a couple Winchesters again? Seriously, that's weak."

"It's not an arsonist," Sam snapped, feeling a little defensive.

Mary turned around in the seat so she could see Dean, and she looked a little like she'd been crying, despite that Sam hadn't heard a sound from her the entire drive. "Dean," she said. "I didn't exactly tell you the truth about your father."

"I remember," Dean said quietly. "I remember the night he left. You begged him not to go."

Mary closed her eyes for a moment, before meeting his gaze again. "But what you don't know is why," she said. "That night, the night of the fire, something came...for your brother."

"I remember," Dean said, again, but he didn't seem to understand that nothing he remembered was what it appeared. "You saw someone standing over the cradle, and then d--_John_ came, and he disappeared, you grabbed Sammy and--"

"He wanted Sammy," Mary said again, her voice tight. "He wasn't going to stop. We had to hide him."

Dean looked at Sam briefly, who was staring at his shotgun again, or maybe at his hands. "Yeah, but--"

"John needed to be able to leave in a hurry, he needed to hide, and we couldn't do that all together. We agreed to spilt up, Dean. I would take you somewhere safe, and he'd do the same for Sam."

"You told me he left you," Dean said, and now he glanced at John and back to her.

"I was angry," she said softly. "And scared. We were never supposed to be apart this long."

"You don't know the things I found out," John said. His voice was rough. "After I knew what it really was we had after us, I couldn't risk coming back to you."

Sam looked out the window. "You're all safer away from me, is what he's saying."

"But not anymore," John said. "From now on, we have to stick together."

"Well if you say so," Dean said, and slid further in the seat.

-----

Sam was grateful when Dean finally fell asleep. Mary was sleeping too. They weren't on John and Sam's schedule, which required them to be awake pretty much all the time. Sam rarely got tired. He'd do anything to avoid his dreams.

"You're going to have to keep an eye on him," John said quietly, looking at Sam through the rearview mirror. "He doesn't believe us, and if we're not careful that could get us all killed."

"Maybe we shouldn't have waited twenty two years to pick them up, then," Sam said.

John's gaze went a little darker, but he didn't yell, not and risk waking the others up. "I did what I thought I had to," he said.

"You always do," Sam said, and broke their gaze.

He could almost pretend they were just some family on a road trip, with mom and dad taking turns driving and sleeping, and the kids in the back, waiting for when they finally get where they're going.

Except this wasn't really that at all. They weren't going anywhere so much as they were trying to get away from something instead.

They'd managed to keep the demon on the defensive for years, but this time it had them running, and running fast.

Sam watched all the leaving so and so town signs as they drove, one after another, and soon they were back in Lawrence. It didn't feel safe to be here, where everything had started. John had warned Sam off this place for years, but they had to go through it to get out.

"We'll stop here for the night," John said, but he didn't sound happy about it.

"I can drive for awhile," Sam told him. "We should keep going."

"Need to pay someone a visit in the morning," John said. "I'd just as soon not have to drive back. It will be fine for one night."

"It was going to be there tonight," Sam said. "Everything was like the dream. We made it in time, but who knows how much or where it is now--"

"Did I say that like it was up for debate?" John asked, as he pulled onto another road, it was dark and strangely familiar, and Sam doesn't know how he can remember a place he hasn't been since before he was a year.

"No, sir," Sam said. "Sorry, sir."

Dean's eyes had opened, but Sam didn't know for how long. He was quiet and frowning, eyes searching the road with the same expression Sam had a few moments before. He recognized Lawrence too. It was as much a part of both of them as anything had ever been.

Mary was waking, too. Sam wished desperately that he knew how to act around them, that he knew what it was to have a family--because what was the point of suddenly having one if didn't have a clue how to respond to them?

He turned when he felt Dean's gaze on him. "What?" he asked, half-defensive, half-anxious, because this was _Dean_, the big brother he used to pretend would come rescue him, save him from everything he'd always fought on his own.

"Nothing," Dean said. He looked back out the window. "We're in Lawrence."

"We're staying here tonight," John told him tensely, obviously waiting for a backlash.

But all Dean said in response was "I haven't been here in years."

-----

The motel they end up at was as shady as the usual, but Sam barely noticed. "Take what you can carry," John told him. "I'll check us in."

Mary followed him out. "I'm coming with you," she said.

Sam watched them go, but didn't move for a moment, _couldn't_.

"I ran away when I was five," Dean said, because the silence was getting to them both, too heavy and too long.

Sam glanced over at him at the unexpected comment, but Dean turned away before he could meet his eyes.

"I was trying to find you," he continued. "I did it again when I was eight. I kept thinking you were calling me for help. Mom stuck me in therapy for _years_." Dean laughed then, like this was funny, or maybe because he didn't know what else to do.

_I was_, Sam thought. He doesn't say that out loud. It's not like Dean could have actually heard him. "I used to look for you too," he said, instead. He caught sight of John waving at him from one of the doors. Room Seven. Lucky, in some cultures, and it would have to do. "We should grab our stuff."

Dean waited a beat longer to actually move, but he did follow Sam from the car and to the trunk. "Grab the duffel bags," Sam told him.

Dean threw one over his shoulder and held the other in his hand, while Sam grabbed a couple rounds of silver bullets, a blessed cross, a vial of holy water, a can of salt, and three extra guns. Dean eyed the contents of the trunk warily. "You think you've got enough guns?" he asked.

"Not always," Sam said. He pushed the trunk closed just as John shouted at him for him to hurry his ass up.

Dean looked over at the decrepit motel wearily, but Sam just grinned. "Home sweet home," he said, and led the way.


	3. The Second Child

Chapter Three: The Second Child

Dean wasn't a snob. He'd probably stayed in places just as shady as this motel by choice, but the circumstances had been different. He'd been with friends on a road trip or something, probably staying out of the motel enough he didn't care what it looked like by the time he made it back to crash.

Dean eyed the two king beds with narrow eyes now, and was sure there was something moving behind the headboard, in and out of the open areas of peeling floral wallpaper.

"Let's get some sleep while we can," John said.

Sam was at the window, shaking a can of salt, one of those with the little Morton salt girl on them, in a line in front of all the windows and then the door. Mary was sitting at the edge of one of the beds, eyes closed, and Dean thought she might be saying some kind of prayer.

Dean wasn't particularly in the mood to sleep. "I want to know what the hell's going on," he said. "Or I'm calling a Taxi and getting the hell out of the Twilight Zone."

Sam closed the salt can with a loud snap, and said nothing. Dean thought briefly about trying to explain this wasn't about _him_, because Dean would love to get to know his little brother, he would.

He'd wanted it for a damn long time, too, but this whole thing had been out of hand since the start.

"I'm waiting," he said.

"It was a demon," John said eventually. "We don't know his name, just his MO. Goes after kids on their six month birthday, kills the mothers."

"A demon," Dean repeated. He looked to Mary. "You believe this? You actually think--"

"I saw it," Mary said. "It's true, Dean, I'm so sorry--"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "No, you said he _left_--you said it was a fire, pure and simple, now what, you want to play make-believe?"

Mary got to her feet, and met his gaze steadily. "I didn't tell you the truth because I didn't think John was coming back, and I didn't want you to grow up thinking the monster in your closet was real."

Sam looked up at that. It was a strange thing to say, considering how the monsters were real, and dangerous. John had given him a weapon to sleep with in case Sam's monster caused any trouble.

Sam shot it when he was six.

Dean still looked disbelieving. Sam had seen the expression countless times before. It was amazing the excuses that people could make--could watch a ghost bare down on them one moment, feel the dead fingers at their necks, and claim it was a trick of light at the next.

Sam supposed he had an unfair advantage, but he never understood why it was so hard to accept. Everyone suspected, held their superstitions--_black cats and ladders and bloody Mary, bloody Mary, bloody Mary._

Sam never blamed the kids too afraid to say it three times; the one and only time he'd done it, she'd come for him.

"Say I believe you," Dean said, though he still made it sound like the impossible, "just what do you expect us to do about it? What do you want from us?"

"What I want," John said tightly, "is for you to be alive. I don't really care what it takes."

"John," Mary said calmly, before turning back to Dean. "Dean, honey--"

Dean shook his head. "No, look, I just--I need some air, okay?"

Dean started for the door, not expecting anyone to stop him. John had other ideas. He grabbed Dean's arm and swung him around, backing him up into the small motel bathroom and then slamming and locking the door behind them.

He heard both Mary and Sam shout out his name, concerned, but Dean just looked pissed off.

"What the hell--"

"I need to talk," John said, stepping forward. Dean backed up until the small porcelain sink was digging into his back. "You need to listen."

"Whatever, man, I--"

"Listen," John said again, dangerously, and Dean's eyes flashed just as dangerously but he snapped his mouth shut. "Whether you want to accept this or not, this demon is real. It wants your brother. Now it wants you. It wants your mother dead. I've been keeping track of your life, Dean. I know you're not the type to walk away when someone needs help. You wouldn't have picked the job you did if you were."

"Putting out fires is a little different than hunting alleged demons that start them," Dean snapped.

Someone knocked on the door. Twenty-two years, and John could still tell from the pacing it was Mary. "John? What are you doing? Open the door."

"Give us a minute," he said, before turning back to Dean. "I know this isn't fair, I know that. None of it ever has been, but this demon is coming whether you want it to or not. The question is, are you going to fight it?"

"When and _if_--"

"Not if," John interrupted. "Just when. And the answer is soon."

"_If_," Dean repeated stubbornly, "some i demon /i comes after me, yeah, I'd fight it."

"And you think you can do it alone?" John asked.

"I think I won't have to do it at all," Dean told him.

John leaned in, so they were eye to eye, and god, Dean looked just like Mary down to the stubborn line of his jaw, the way he pressed his fingernails into the palms of his hands when he made a fist, digging in, holding his ground. "What if you're wrong?" he asked quietly. "You willing to take that chance with their lives? With your own?"

"Dad?" Sam asked anxiously, tapping on the door. "Hey, what's going on?"

"So?" John asked.

Dean met his eyes stubbornly still, but when he spoke, he didn't sound certain at all. "No," he said. "I guess I'm not."

John reached back and unlocked the bathroom door. Dean pushed past him and back into the room without looking back. Mary was flushed and looked worried, but she didn't ask what had been said, and neither did Sam, who turned to watch as Dean walked across the room and flopped down on one of the beds.

When the Winchesters finally got to sleep, Mary was in John's arms in the bed beside the door, and Sam and Dean were in the other, side by side and still, like strangers.

-----

Things are strained the next morning. Dean and John don't seem to be talking and Sam had no clue what to say to anyone. Mary started light conversations like a pro, but all of their responses were measured, almost afraid, desperately trying not to push all of these new bonds until they snapped.

It almost worked until they piled back into the Impala and arrived at a small house, where John told them all to wait outside.

"Why should we?" Dean asked. "I think we're all as involved in this as you, now, aren't we? You made it fairly clear that involvement wasn't optional."

"I need to speak to my friend alone, and the why shouldn't concern you," John told him. "Let's get one thing straight right now--you do as I say, no questions. Anything else you'll get us killed."

Dean snorted. "Wow. That's a rather fatalistic approach to parenting, _do as I say or die_. You should write books."

"Just. Stay. Here," John ground out, and then he was up the porch steps and in the house without knocking, the door slamming shut behind him before Dean could get out another word.

Dean squinted over at his brother. "He always like that?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, giving a shy grin. "He kind of is."

"Never used to be," Mary said, as she leaned against the side of the Impala. "And you used to worship him, Dean."

"Four year olds will worship anything," Dean said, and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"You're being too hard on him," Mary said softly.

"You're being too easy on him," Dean countered. "It's been twenty-two years, and what, we're supposed to pretend none of that matters now? That what, the last twenty-two years was just pretense until he could come save us?"

"Dean--" Mary started.

"No, never mind," Dean said. He turned away and started off down the sidewalk. He needed a moment alone, just a little space, but Sam was hot on his heels the moment he stepped away.

"We never wanted to stay away for so long," Sam told him quietly.

Dean came to a stop almost at once, shutting his eyes tightly, but not turning around. "I don't blame you," he said.

"There's no point blaming anyone," Sam said. "If you want revenge for what you lost, you'll get that when we kill the demon that started this."

"The demon," Dean repeated dubiously.

"Yes," Sam said. "I've seen it all, Dean. Ghosts, vampires, demons, it's all real. You have to trust us."

"We thought you were dead, you know," Dean said. "Never said it out loud, but we both thought it."

"We're not, and we're not going to be, we can beat this," Sam said stubbornly. "We've fought worse, and that was before we had you with us."

Dean laughed. "And what do you think I can do?"

Sam smiled wryly. "You didn't seem to have any trouble taking me out."

Dean smirked. "Well, I had the home advantage."

------

Missouri already had the tea brewing when he arrived, but she didn't look up when he entered the room. "You're more trouble than you're worth, John Winchester," she said.

She set a cup of tea in front of him and then stared him down. "You don't know what you've started."

"I didn't start any of this," John said.

"But you're damned determined to finish it, aren't you?" Missouri asked. "Never could leave anything alone. You've always been that way."

"It went after them," John said dangerously. "I've kept Sam on a short leash because I thought he was the only one I had to worry about and now--"

"You never did understand," Missouri said. "You were never supposed to have a second child. It was meant to stop with Dean."

"What was?" John demanded.

Missouri walked away from him and looked out her front window. "Tell me what you know about the demon," she said.

John frowned. "It goes after babies, at their six month birthday--children chosen because they have some kind of extrasensory gift. The demon kills the mothers to keep them from interfering in the plans he has for them and--"

"Stop," Missouri said. "You missed something."

"What?" John snapped. "I came to see you for answers, Missouri, not more questions."

Missouri shook her head. "The first child, John, always the first child. Had any of the families you've encountered had more than one?"

John frowned when he realized she was right, and he didn't know how he could have missed that--the one startling aberration in the demon's pattern was his own eldest son, and it had never sunk in once.

"The first child, at six months, is chosen for it's power, but you saved Mary and Dean, and she had two."

"The demon never came for Dean," John said, getting to his feet. "He was never--"

"There was no fire," she said. "It doesn't mean he wasn't there. I didn't say you saved them knowingly."

John walked over to her, and leaned against the sink, glaring. "Spit it out, Missouri."

She shot him a scathing glance. "What do you know about that pendant? The one you told Dean never to take off?"

John frowned. "It was my father's," he said. "It always goes to the first son."

"And where was it the night of Dean's sixth month birthday?" she asked.

"We had it hanging on the mobile above his crib--are you trying to say that necklace stopped a demon of this power, because I don't--"

"No," Missouri said. "It didn't stop him, it stopped Dean's power. It hides him. The demon didn't take him because he didn't realize he should."

John shook his head. "No, I don't--"

"There's never supposed to be a second child," Missouri continued, eyeing Sam nervously through the window. "Too powerful. Too unpredictable, even for him."

"Dean's still wearing the pendant," John said after a moment. "He doesn't have any supernatural powers. If what you're saying is true, why would he decide to go after Dean now?"

"He must have realized his mistake." Missouri looked back out the window. "Sam...he's powerful, probably more powerful than any I've heard of. And whatever he was, it's nothing compared to what he'll be now that they're together."

John finally followed her gaze out the window. Sam and Dean were standing, smiling at each other in the sun, laughing at something. It's been twenty-two years since he last saw Dean laugh, and he can't remember the last time he heard Sam's.

"The pendant protects him, keeps things from feeling what he is, but it keeps him from becoming what he needs to be, too. If you take it off him you put him at greater risk. If you don't..."

John frowned. He saw Mary, leaning against the passenger door of the car and watching their sons. "If I don't I might lose them all," he finished.


	4. The Hunting

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone for the kind reviews, and I'm sorry that it's taking me so long in-between updates.

Chapter Four: The Hunting

John didn't say anything when he came back out, just ushered everyone back into the car and started driving, expression even grimmer than it had been before. John's phone calls to Missouri always ended that way too.

They didn't stop until they were outside of Lawrence and they pulled into a small little café. Dean smiled at the waitress and got her number before they got their food, and Sam watched him from the other side of the booth while Mary tolerated his flirting with long suffering grace and John ignored them all, tapping on the counter in a pattern that reminded Sam of Morse code.

Sam was pretty sure that no one would guess, looking at them, that they were a family. Dean looked like Mary's son and John looked like Sam's father; two separate entities, that's what they were.

Sam wondered if that was as much as he could hope to have.

"So what exactly is your plan then?" Dean asked. He was slouching in his seat eating French fries two at a time, and across from him Sam had pushed his plate away untouched.

"We're heading to Pastor Jim's," John said. "You remember him?"

"I barely remember you," Dean said lazily. Mary shot him a look, but he ignored it.

John ignored Dean's comment with more patience than Sam can ever remember seeing in him, and continued speaking without another pause. "He's going to put us up for a few days while we regroup."

Dean just sighed and grabbed two more fries. Mary sipped at her coffee with her eyes on the window and Sam tried to figure out what message John was tapping on the table, but it was no use, he wasn't spelling out any real words.

It was already dark by the time they make it to Pastor Jim's, and they found him in the church, sitting in the front row. His throat has been slit straight across and his head has fallen back against the bench, eyes wide open, lips parted like he'd been caught mid-prayer.

Mary let out a sob and turned away and Dean raced to his side to feel a for a pulse he knew he wasn't going to find. John just reached out and ran his hand over Jim's face, closing the eyes on the way down.

"We've got to call the police," Dean said.

"They can't catch what did this," John told him.

"The demon," Sam said. "It beat us here. It knew where we going."

"No," John said, shaking his head. "He doesn't waste his time with murders like this. He sent someone else. Something powerful too, if they could stroll right onto hallowed ground."

"Are you even listening to yourselves?" Dean demanded. "A man is dead, murdered--we need to call someone."

John glanced over at him. "You call the police, they'll probably arrest us, because there aren't going to be any other suspects. Nothing human did this."

"How do you know?" Dean asked. "I've seen worse things done to people, by people, and this just looks like murder to me."

"Have you ever been in a church before?" John asked.

"Not often," Dean said. "Once or twice. I don't see how that--"

"Do you ever feel a slight snap of air when you walk through the doors?" John said, ignoring him. "Like a ring shutting you in, like walking into a bubble, somewhere you know is safe."

Dean shook his head. "Look--"

"I do. Every time. Because I know it's there. It's not here, not anymore. Something evil walked through those doors and they've tainted this hallowed ground." John looked over at Dean. "Don't you worry. This murderer isn't going unpunished. I'm going to kill it myself."

"You really are crazy," Dean whispered.

"Sam, go make a pyre," John said. "We don't have much time. We're hunting tonight."

Sam nodded and slipped out the back door without a word. Mary returned beside them but didn't look at Jim. She wound her arm through Dean's and stared at the floor as John picked up the body and carried it out.

-----

Sam was almost out of salt. There was nearly a layer covering the floor of the entire house. John was leaving some guns on the dining room table in case Dean and Mary should need them while they were gone, and everyone was tense. Sam couldn't imagine a time where they wouldn't have to be.

"You don't leave this house," John was saying. "Not for anything."

There were still traces of smoke in the sky if you looked hard enough, the last bits of Pastor Jim that were left. John promised them all that it was the way Jim wanted it. Almost all hunters did. They had vengeance in their blood as a matter of course, and they all knew they were only one wrong move from being the things they hunted.

"Where are you going?" Dean demanded.

"I'm going with you," Mary said.

John was shaking his head. "You'll be a liability." Dean's question was ignored entirely, in a manner Dean was beginning to resent. "Sam and I know what we're doing. We'll be back before first light."

"Be careful," Sam said softy.

John nodded. "I mean it, don't leave this house. And Dean, don't take off that pendant, not for anything."

"I thought we were in this together," Dean said.

"We are," John said. "We just have different roles. Right now, yours is to keep yourself and your mother from getting killed. Think you can handle that?"

"We've managed just fine without you the last twenty two years," Dean said. "I think we can manage a few more hours."

"Dean," Mary warned.

John just grinned. "No, it's okay," he said. "I just hope he's right."

John nodded at Sam and then they were out the doors. Dean crossed his arms as they left and glanced at the guns that had been left on the tables. "I think we should call the police," he said. "That man needs to be committed."

Mary just rolled her eyes. "You'd have to commit the whole lot of us, Dean," she said. "I saw that demon too."

"You saw something," Dean said. "You can't know what it was. You could have been half unconscious with smoke inhalation by then."

"I know what I saw, Dean," Mary said.

"Then why didn't you ever tell me?" Dean demanded. "All these years, and you never said a word about any of this."

"Just look at how you're reacting," Mary said. "This is why I didn't tell you."

"No," Dean said, walking away from her. "That doesn't work and you know it. I would have believed you then. I wouldn't have questioned it once. I would have believed anything as long as it meant he hadn't just walked out on us like he had--"

"Dean," Mary said, broken. "I brought you up the only way I could, you have to know that. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to know it myself."

"But you believe it," Dean said. "You actually buy into all of this stuff? All of it? You think there are demons and ghosts and that something is hunting us?"

"I've seen ghosts," Mary said, eyes glassy. "They're drawn to you, Dean. They've followed you all your life."

"What are you talking about?" Dean said.

"I don't know why you've never seen them," she said. "I've just always thanked god that you can't. I only wanted you to be happy. I never wanted this for you, or for Sam, it's just what happened and I'm not sure how to fix it now."

"This isn't making any sense," Dean said. "If this is all true--if it is, then my entire life has been a lie."

"No, it hasn't," Mary said. "Don't you ever think that. It's as real as anything."

"Well, this has all been very sweet and all and I hate to interrupt, but business, you know--"

Mary and Dean looked up at the strange voice, and a young woman smiled at them from the shadows. She stepped forward. She had on a Death Cab For Cutie t-shirt and jeans, short blonde hair and sneakers, and she looked like a college student except for the eyes.

"Did you honestly believe salt would even slow me down?" she asked. "But no, of course not--because you, Dean, don't even believe in me at all, do you? Only fair I guess. We've only recently learned all about you."

Dean stepped in front of Mary and glared at the intruder. "Who are you?"

She titled her head and watched him with those strange black eyes. "You can just call me Meg. And you're Dean Winchester, John's eldest son," she said. "You're prettier than I thought you'd be. The Winchester men I've previously encountered tend to be more on the rugged side."

Meg smiled, and glanced at Mary. "But you take more after dear old mom, don't you? I wonder, just what would you do for her? Would you do anything I ask?"

"Don't listen to a word she says," Mary said, as Dean said, "You leave her out of this."

"It doesn't work like that," Meg said, and waved a hand.

Mary went flying backwards and crashed into the wall with a startled cry. Dean moved to go to her but Meg was in front of him before he could blink. "Ah ah ah, leave her be. Worry about me."

Dean stepped away from her, eyes on his mother as she fell limp in the corner of the room. "What do you want?" he asked.

Meg smiled. "Oh, you give in easy, I like that. Took John an hour to say that when I had his baby boy pinned against a wall, but you're much more reasonable than he is, aren't you, Dean? You'll do exactly as I say, won't you?"

"He's not going to a damn thing," John said. Meg's eyes widened for a moment when she felt the muzzle against the back of her head, and then John had already pulled the trigger.

She went skidding across the floor, bits of shattered skull hitting the ground like confetti. She looked up with black eyes and crawled back to her feet. "You're going to regret that, Winchester. This was a perfectly good body, now its entirely ruined. How do you expect me to go out in public looking like this?"

Dean was watching her in disbelief. Half of her head had been blown away and she only looked annoyed. Sam appeared at his side, and tugged Dean back beside him, keeping his own shotgun aimed on Meg.

Meg watched them for a moment and then grinned. "This is an ambush, you knew I was coming, didn't you? Oh, John," she said, smiling. "This is why we like you so much. You've only just got them back and already you're using them as bait. I really should have suspected that."

"Sammy," John said.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas. Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii--"

"Oh, you're kidding," Meg said, backing away. "An exorcism, John, really? That's the best you've got? I can always come back later, find Dean and your pretty little wife when they're alone--"

Meg reached the door and froze, caught like she was in a spider web before falling back inside, landing on her hands and knees. She looked up fiercely. "What did you do?" she hissed.

"You're sitting on one huge devil's trap, darlin. Jim built this house on it," John said. "You're not going anywhere." John turned back to Sam. "Keep going."

Sam nodded. "Omnis legio, omnis congregatio, et secta diabolica--"

Meg let out a cry that almost sounded human, and then reached out her hand. One of the rifles on the table flew straight into her hands, and she aimed it at the unconscious Mary. "Stop now or I'll kill her, you know I don't bluff, John."

Sam stopped before John could ask him to. Jim had that devil's trap engraved straight onto the foundation but the problem was that it was nearly 100 feet across either way, and that was plenty room for a demon to do some damage.

"You're not getting out of this room, Meg," John said. "I couldn't break this trap even if I wanted to."

"You're not making me feel any less inclined to blow her head off, John," Meg said. "But you're right. I know that. It doesn't matter. I'm not important."

Dean stepped forward before Sam could stop him. "What do you want?" he asked again. "Aim that gun at me, I'm the one you're after, right?" 

Meg grinned. Blood was pooling out the back of her throat and coating her lips, and Dean could see the hole in the back of her head reflected in the glass of the window behind her. He tried not to look too closely at it as he stepped closer. "We don't want you dead, Dean."

"Don't talk to her, Dean," John said. "Don't say another word. It's what she wants."

"Go ahead, Dean, listen to daddy. And when your mother is dead, I'm sure it will be a great comfort to know that I didn't get what I wanted." Meg laughed, her finger tightening slightly on the trigger.

Mary was stirring now, waking slightly. "Dean?" she said, raising a hand on the wall to leverage herself up before slipping again, eyes falling shut.

Dean met Meg's cold black eyes, and asked again, "What do you want?"

Meg grinned slyly. "Take off that damn pendant you're wearing, or I kill her right now."

He didn't even hesitate.


	5. Metamorphosis

Chapter Five: Metamorphosis

Dean wrapped his fingers around the pendant and pulled, and the minute the circle snapped open he started screaming.

It all came rushing in at once--the childhood he never had, the father he never knew, the demons he never killed, Sam's whole entire life was funneled straight into his brain, and when it was over, and it was quiet, Meg was kneeling in front of him with a smirk, asking if he was alright, one hand at the base of his neck, the other on his shoulder. Blood was dripping down her chin.

"You get away from him," John demanded.

"Give the poor boy a moment to breathe, John," Meg said, but she let go of him and Dean fell forward panting, breathing through the pain. Meg turned back to look at him, as she crushed the pendant in the palm of her hand, opening it again only after it was dust. "You've always felt it a little, haven't you? That tug whenever you took the pendant off, for even a moment, or those dreams you have at night, even when you've still got it around your neck."

Dean kept his eyes closed. People were screaming in his head, screaming for him to save them, help them, he's sure they haven't got long.

"It's your brother doing that, making it like this, we always suspected--" Meg whispered gleefully. "But you can feel me, too, can't you, Dean? Am I under your skin?"

"I will blow the rest of your face off if you don't get away from him, right now, Meg," John snapped.

He had made his way across the room, and was standing in front of Mary, shot gun aimed at Meg's head. Meg just grinned at him and then returned her attention to Dean. "You're empathic," Meg said. "Now that, we didn't expect."

Meg reached out to touch Dean again, and then froze at the sound of Sam's voice, no longer the least bit uncertain. "Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, atana, inventas et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis."

Meg looked up at him, and Sam met her stare evenly. "Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nominee, quem inferi tremunt."

"Stop," Meg commanded, but she had shrunk away from them, and her head banged into the window behind her as she tilted it back to scream. Her fingernails clawed into the wood of the floorboards and then she looked back at Sam. "You think you're so clever, Sam, but this is what we want."

Sam ignored her. "Dominicos sanctae ecclesiae. Terogamus audi nos."

Meg let out another scream, and this time a funnel of black smoke can streaming out of her throat. The girl was dead before her body hit the floor, and the demon was back in hell where it belonged. Dean jammed the palms of his hands into his eyes and tried not to remember what he had seen. The demon was wrong. He hadn't felt the demon--he'd felt her, the poor girl that body belonged to.

She should have been dead after a shot like that to the head, but the demon had kept her alive along with the body, and she had been screaming, just screaming, past being able to do anything else.

"Sam, get your brother out of here," John said, as he reached down to pull Mary into his arms.

"What about her?" Sam asked, nodding towards Meg.

"We're not leaving this place standing," John said.

Sam knelt beside Dean, and reached out to touch his arm. Dean let out a pained cry the moment they touched, and Sam could almost see faint little sparks where his fingers had met Dean's sleeve. "Can you walk?" he asked, uncertainly.

"You once went through three miles of forest on a broken leg," Dean said. "You were only twelve."

Sam froze. "That was a long time ago," he said. "Can you walk?"

Dean let out a shaky breath and then pushed himself to his feet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John burned Jim's house down while the rest of them sat in the car. Whoever Meg really was, she could be at peace now at least. John had made certain she wouldn't be allowed to stick around. They would hear about it all on the news later, about the blood found in the church and the house that was nothing but ashes, about the smoldered remains of the two bodies found that couldn't be identified. There would be no suspects.

They rented a little motel room that looked exactly like the one they had just left, except there were ducks on the wallpaper instead of roses and the carpet was colored deep red. Mary sat on the corner of the bed with a washcloth wrapped around ice held against her head and John had Dean's arm in his hands on the other side of the room, where he was carefully wrapping straps of leather around his wrist.

"These aren't going to protect you like that pendant did, but it's better than nothing," John told him. "They've been soaked in holy water and blessed by a priest."

"He was a witchdoctor," Sam said, from the window. "Not a priest."

John was unaffected by this distinction. "Whatever works," he said.

"But what's happening to me?" Dean asked. "I can--"

Dean paused, not sure how to explain what he could do. All he knew was that John's fingers were like match tips against his skin, and he could feel that all of John was burning, he was made up of rage and fierce loyalty and a mission that wasn't finished yet.

"Meg called you empathic," John said. "But we can't take anything she said at face value. There's no telling what you're capable of. We've met kids along the way can do all kinds of things."

"You remember Andy?" Sam asked John. He looked at Dean. "Andy could ask for anything he wanted, and whoever he asked would give it to him, just like that."

Dean watched Sam warily. "What do you do?"

"Sam gets visions," John said, before Sam could answer. "That's how we knew they were after you."

"Visions?" Dean asked.

"They mostly come when I'm alseep," Sam told him. "Usually I see things too late to do anything about them, but somehow we made it to you in time."

Dean nodded, past being able to argue about any of this. None of it made any more sense than it had yesterday, but thanks to his meeting with Meg, it was no longer something he could ignore. John finished knotting the bracelets around his wrist and let him go. Dean backed away quickly, thankful to end the contact. Touching John was a little like trying to grip a livewire.

"So you're telling me I've got superpowers or something?" Dean asked. "And that pendant was what, like my kryptonite?"

John smiled wryly. "Put simply, that's pretty much it exactly."

Mary was watching him carefully. "Can we get another pendant?" she asked. "We need to find something."

John glanced at her, and then shook his head. "That's been in my family farther back than I could even trace it. I don't have any idea where it came from."

"There must be something similar," Mary said, dropping the icepack and getting to her feet. "Look at him--it's too much, it's. . . they're going to come for him."

"Who is?" John asked.

Dean frowned and glanced down at the floor, crossing his arms and tugging carefully at the bracelets on his wrist.

"Ghosts," Mary said. "Spirits. I'm not sure exactly. All I know is they've been trying to get at him since the night of the fire. I see them sometimes. They come out of the ground or through the walls--dead things, just wandering around the house--"

John reached out and grabbed Mary by the shoulders, turning her to face him. "Mary, it's okay. Whatever happens, we're going to face it together now, okay?"

"I never saw them," Dean said. "I don't--"

"You will though," Mary said. "They're on their way."

"Mary, calm down," John said. "Let's just get some sleep. It's been a long day."

Mary nodded vaguely and let John lead her back to the bed. Dean stayed by the window and watched them, and Sam came to stand beside him. Dean bit his lip as Sam got close enough that Dean could ifeel/i him. Dean felt like he'd almost pulled Sam into his head, all of his thoughts and emotions. He knew Sam's life every bit as well as his own.

"What did you see?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced at him, startled by his voice. "What?"

"You knew about the time I broke my leg," Sam explained. "What else did you see?"

"Everything," Dean admitted.

Sam nodded, as though he'd expected as much. "What about the others?"

"It's different with everyone else," Dean said. "I just get a sense of things about them. With you it was more like I was seeing everything the same way you had, like I'd lived through it myself."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. "I saw your life too," he said after a moment. "When you took the pendant off, I saw everything too."

"None of this makes any damn sense," Dean said, before heading to the bed.

It all made perfect sense to Sam. He just wasn't sure that it left him any better off.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Dean woke up, Meg was sitting on the edge of his bed. She was smiling and the blood painted her lips like some kind of grotesque cherry lipgloss, perfect but for the parts where it was streaming down her chin. The bullet hole was blackened now and half hidden by her bangs, and he sat up and backed up against the headboard, trying to get away.

She just kept smiling. "It's okay," she said. "It's okay."

"You're dead," Dean snapped.

She licked her lips, but the blood stayed where it was. "True," she admitted. "Honestly, I think I've been dead for a very long time."

"You're not the demon," Dean said as the realization hit him, and he leaned forward, glancing at Sam to make sure he was not awake. "You're the girl. Meg."

She nodded. "Yes," she said.

"I thought you couldn't be a ghost if the body was burned," Dean said.

"That's a simplification," she said. "I can't become a poltergeist. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to, because there's nothing worldly tying me here. But you can't just banish the dead. Some of us don't have anywhere to go."

"Why are you here?" he asked her.

"I know things," Meg said. "I know everything it knew. There are things you should be told, and there's no one else that knows."

Meg reached out a bloody hand, but stopped before she touched him, maybe because she remembered that she couldn't.

"You and your brother, you're both in danger," she said. "Your parents are the lucky ones. He just wants them dead."

"That's not going to happen," Dean said.

Meg's smile faded. "Yes it is," she said. "It's only a matter of when."

Dean started to protest, but Meg didn't give him the chance. "I don't have long," she said. "I only came to tell you that you must find Samuel Colt's gun. It's the only thing that will kill him."

"What Colt?" Dean asked. "What are you talking about?"

Meg shook her head. She opened her mouth and continued speaking, but Dean could no longer hear her words. Beside him, Sam shot up from the bed screaming, and when Dean glanced back she was gone.

Dean returned his attention to his brother and grabbed his arm. "Sam? Hey, Sam, are you okay?"

Sam let out a gasping breath, and John was at his side in moments, kneeling beside the bed. "What did you see?" John asked.

"The demon," Sam said. "He's going after Daniel Elkins."

"Elkins?" John said, before going pale. "I just got a letter from him before we left, he'd said he found something, a gun, but I didn't believe him."

"A gun?" Dean asked quietly. "Samuel Colt's gun?"

John froze, and then looked up at him with wide eyes. "How the hell did you know that?" John asked.

Dean took a deep breath, and then met his father's stare. "Because Meg just came and told me that's the only thing that'll kill him." 


	6. Interlude on a Plane

Note: This is a very short part, because between work and school I've had hardly any time to write, but someone asked for a bit of Mary and Sam interaction, which made me realize that thus far this story had absolutely none. Also, I had to get them to Elkins somehow.

Part Six: Interlude on a Plane

"I just think we should talk about this," Mary said.

"There's nothing to talk about," John told her. "We need to go get that gun."

"It's the middle of the night, John," she said.

"I can drive," Dean offered. "I'm wide awake."

John tossed him the keys without even looking up. "There. It's settled."

"How do you even know where this Elkins is? I thought you said you had a falling out," Mary said. "And what makes you think we're going to beat this demon there? We could be walking right into a trap."

"We don't have a choice," Sam offered quietly. "If the demon gets the gun there won't be any stopping him."

"I just thought the idea was staying away from this demon, not trying to meet up with it," Mary said.

"That isn't going to work," John said. "He's got some connection to both Sam and Dean, he'd find them. Only chance we've got is finding him first."

"Well, where is he?" Mary asked.

"Manning, Colorado," Sam said. "We'll never get there in time if we take the car. We'll have to fly."

"Whoa," Dean said. "Hold on there. What do you mean by fly?"

Sam glanced over at him and grinned wryly. "You didn't know I could fly?"

"He means we're going to have to take a plane," John cut in, throwing Sam his duffle bag.

"I don't really do planes," Dean explained.

John squinted at him. "You're scared of flying?"

"No," Dean said, and snorted like that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "I just don't see how getting in some tin can and zooming off into the sky ever seemed like a good idea," he continued, caressing the keys in his hand before point out the window towards the car. "Now see, that baby? That I get."

"He'll be fine," Mary said. "He just gets a little nervous is all."

"I don't get nervous. I just don't like it," Dean said, and then when they all seemed unconvinced, he added, "I'm not scared."

"Of course you're not," Mary said. "Which is why you won't have any problem getting on the plane."

"Right," Dean said petulantly. "Demons. Planes. Freakin' awesome. This is like the best week ever."

xxxxxxx

Mary watched Dean out of the corner of her eye. He was holding the seat so tightly his knuckles were white, and John was holding out a bag of peanuts like they were the answer to everything, telling him stories to try and distract him.

Mary smiled slightly, and decided to let John handle this. He was overdo to take a turn watching out for Dean, and as for her. . . she looked over at the young man beside her, so familiar and strange at once. She could hardly reconcile him with the baby John had bundled away in the Impala and driven away.

"You're so handsome," she said, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. "And so tall. You look so much like John."

Sam shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "I am really tall," he admitted awkwardly, and Mary smiled.

"I can't believe it's really you," she said. "I was so worried I wouldn't ever get to see you again. I thought you both were gone."

Sam slouched into his seat, and glanced out the window. Flying didn't bother him at all, though he'd only done it once or twice before. It was only the simple things that scared Sam. "It wasn't safe," he said.

"It doesn't matter," Mary said. "Things never should have happened the way that they did."

Sam bit his lip. He wasn't sure what role he was supposed to take in this conversation. He didn't want to betray his father by admitting that he thought that too. "What did you mean?" he asked, instead. "What you said before, about the ghosts."

"You know about ghosts," Mary said sadly, and it was her turn to look away. "You know that once you can see them, you see them everywhere. They've always been drawn to Dean, but he's never noticed them. He walks straight through them and doesn't even flinch."

"But now he's going to see them," Sam said.

"Now he won't be able to ignore them," Mary agreed. "I never wanted him to know they were there. I wish you didn't, either."

"It's not such a horrible thing sometimes," Sam said quietly. "Sometimes I like knowing they're there. Sometimes it's reassuring to know that this isn't everything."

Mary rested her hand on his cheek, and smiled sadly. "If I've learned anything from ghosts," she said. "It's that this is everything."

Sam wondered at how soft her hands her when she touched him, so unlike his father's rough calloused palms, the ones that almost always only touched him in order to shake him awake. "I'm glad you've been safe at least," Sam said. "It makes it worth it."

Mary watched him carefully. "Sam, what's happened to you?"

Sam opened him mouth to say something, some kind of response, but words failed him. There was no way to explain the things that had happened to him, and Mary was the last person in the world he'd want to know them. "I've been surviving too," Sam said finally. "Winchesters are good at that, you know."

Mary nodded. "Yes," she said, but this had not been the response she had hoped for.

Surviving was funny in that all you had to do to qualify was not be dead, which really only made it one very slight step up. She glanced back at John and the awkward way he was trying to talk to Dean, almost the way he'd been the day they had first brought him home from the hospital, and she wondered what had happened to all of them.

They'd been a family once, and they'd been happy.

Survival had been taken for granted then, it hadn't been the best they had to show for their lives.

Mary looked back at Sam, and it was easy to forget how young he still was, the way he threw rifles over his shoulder like some soldier. His eyes were old, almost ageless, but when he offered her a small smile and said, "It's going to be alright, you know," he looked about five years old, and it occurred to her that she was the one that should be saying that to him.

"Of course it will," she said, and took his hand. "We're together now."

--


	7. Solid Ground

Note: I felt bad about the last part being so short, so here's a bit more to make up for it. I'll try to make the next part a little longer. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, this story started as just this strange little idea, so I'm thrilled that others could enjoy it too.

Part Seven: Solid Ground

Dean was still fidgety for hours after they got off the plane. John had practically had to pry the keys to their rental car out of his shaking hands, before pushing him unceremoniously into the backseat with Sam.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam asked him cautiously.

Dean glanced at him. "What? Me? I'm fine. I'm awesome. We're back on the ground where we belong."

Sam bit back a grin and nodded, before looking back towards the front of the car. Mary was driving, and John was slouched down in the passenger seat, almost like he was asleep. Sam knew he wasn't, but it was as close as John usually got.

Dean had slouched down in his seat too, in an unconscious mimic of John's posture. He looked like he was finally calming down. "How often do you get these visions, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"He doesn't go by Sammy anymore," John said from the front, without opening his eyes.

Sam glanced over at his brother. "It's okay," he said. "He can call me Sammy if he wants to."

Dean tossed him a blinding grin, and then turned to look out the window. "Are they always of people dying?"

Sam watched the back of his father's head, waiting to see if he was going to provide the answers himself. He didn't. "Yes," Sam said, after a moment. "But there's been entire years where I don't see anything at all. It's only when he's close that they start to come this often."

"And you saw me die?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No," he said. "It wasn't you that died."

Dean watched him carefully, taking in the meaning. Then he slouched a little further and wouldn't meet his eyes again. "Are we almost there?" he asked.

John had sat up and was watching the address numbers on the mailboxes as they passed. He nodded. "Yeah, another mile, at the most. I can't remember exactly where it is, but I'll know it when I see it."

"It's five more houses down," Sam said.

John nodded, and didn't ask how he knew. "When we get there, I want you and Dean to stay in the car," John said to Mary. "Sam and I will go in and check the place."

Dean sat up quickly. "I don't think so," he said. "I know how to use a gun. I can hold my own."

"Shooting at tin cans ain't exactly the same as shooting at demons," John snapped.

"They were targets actually, at the shooting range," Dean said. "No one actually shoots at tin cans anymore."

John leaned into the backseat, and gave him a weary glare. "You get the point."

"The point is that if you can take Sammy you can take me," Dean said.

"Sam's been doing this all his life," John said. "We know what we're doing. We can't get distracted looking out for you, and Daniel may already be in trouble. I'm not going to argue with you. You're staying in the car."

"Turn here," Sam said.

Mary spun the car around the corner, and up the long driveway. The house was half hidden by trees, but they could see a beat up old pickup parked a few feet from the door. Elkins lived alone, and chances were that meant he was home.

"Grab the shotguns, Sam," John said, before glancing back again at Dean. "Stay in the car."

"Scout's honor," Dean said sweetly, and John and Sam slipped out of the car.

Mary watched him in the rearview mirror. "You were never in the boy scouts," she said warily.

"Well, he doesn't know that," Dean said with a grin.

xxxxx

The door was unlocked. John pushed it open carefully, and eyed the deadbolts that decorated the door from the handle nearly to the top, and he knew Daniel wasn't the type not to make sure every single one of them was locked. He motioned to Sam to be prepared for trouble, and then made his way inside.

He nearly ran into Daniel, who had rushed from the living room and was about to make his way outside. He pulled to a stop, looking at John and then Sam, before settling his gaze on the guns. "John," he said warily. "This is unexpected."

John looked behind him, but nothing seemed to have been chasing him. "Are you okay?"

Daniel frowned. "Yeah, I just forgot something. I'm about to head out on a hunt."

"Daniel, I need you to tell me something, okay? It's important. Do you still have that gun you wrote me about? The Colt?" John asked him, resting the shotgun over his shoulder.

Daniel nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't sell that. And I should have known you weren't here just to say hi."

John gave him a charming grin. "I just want to borrow it."

"Uh huh," Daniel said. "You going to tell me what for? I only found seven bullets, and there's only six left."

"We've almost got that demon, Daniel. We think it's on its way here," John explained.

Daniel frowned. "Why would it be coming here?" he asked.

"It's been going after our friends," Sam told him quietly.

Daniel nodded vaguely. "Well, of course you're welcome to it," he said. "Only trouble is I locked that thing up in this old safe, and I don't know how to get it out. I may have been drinking a bit when I set it up, and for the life of me I can't remember the combination to the lock."

John laughed. "Well, that's no trouble. Sammy here is good at getting into safes."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Dean said, appearing in the doorway.

John glanced back at him. "I thought I told you to stay in the car? Dammit, Dean, when I--"

"That's not him," Dean interrupted.

John glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know what that is, but it isn't your friend," Dean told him, eyes straying back to Daniel Elkins. "He can't get in the safe. Elkins took precautions to keep anything that wasn't human from getting inside."

Daniel smiled slowly, and his eyes shifted until they were yellow. "Such a clever boy," he said. "I should have known you were special from the very beginning, Dean."

Elkins waved a hand and John slammed into the wall. He moved forward and grabbed him, pulling him back against him and taking a knife from his belt to hold against his throat. He looked back over at Sam, who had aimed a shotgun steadily in his direction.

"Be a good boy, now, Sammy," Elkins said. "You open that safe and bring me that gun, and daddy here doesn't bleed out all over the floor."

Sam looked at his father for some kind of guidance, but the knife was too close to his throat for him to speak. Dean stepped forward, drawing the attention off of Sam. "You're not going to kill him," he said.

"You're wrong about that," the demon said.

Dean shook his head. "No, I'm not. You kill him and you know we'll use that gun on you."

"You try and use that gun on me, and I'll kill him," the demon corrected. "Sammy, I don't see you working on that safe."

Sam set the shotgun aside, because it was useless anyway, and then knelt down beside the safe. He squinted at the symbols that had been welded into the door. Dean had been right. No demon could touch this safe, it would have been akin to putting its hand into a fire. The actual safe itself was simple. Daniel Elkins hadn't been worried about human thieves.

Dean stepped to the side, closer to Sam. He kept one eye on the shotgun, because it hadn't entirely sunken in that there were some things it wouldn't kill. The demon was watching his every move, still smiling.

"Oh, Dean," he said. "Your parents thought they were so smart keeping you two apart, but that was the worst thing they could have done. All that power in you, untapped all these years, building up, boiling over--and that bond you don't know how to control."

Sam had paused in his work for a brief moment, before steadily continuing on. John was trying to say something that sounded a lot like stop, but he pretended not to hear. He couldn't afford to.

"What do you want from us?" Dean demanded.

"I want you, the both of you." The demon smiled. "It's all I've ever wanted, Dean, and you've all made it so much harder by putting it off until now."

The safe clicked open and the demon laughed. Dean moved in front of Sam to block the demon's view of him. The demon tilted his head as he watched, and dragged the knife a little closer to John's neck.

Sam stood up and moved past Dean. His fingers itched to pull the trigger of the gun, but he held it out, the muzzle pointed at his own heart instead. He winced when the demon jerked it from his hands.

"You did good, Sammy," he said, before pushing John to his knees. "Let's make sure it still works." Sam let out a shout of protest and started towards him, but the demon only had to look over at him to send him flying against the wall.

He turned his attention back to John, and he was about to fire when he heard a gun cock behind him. He smiled and looked over at Dean. "You've got a lot to learn, kid. Guns can't hurt me."

"The one I'm holding can," Dean said. "You think Elkins kept the gun locked up in that safe where he couldn't get it real quick if he needed it? It was a decoy. He hid the real thing in plain sight."

"You're lying," the demon said. "I've got the real gun."

"You want to test that theory?" Dean asked.

"If it was the real gun, you would have shot me with it already," the demon said.

"If I didn't care more about keeping John alive than seeing you dead I would have," Dean said. "But you can just consider this your lucky day. We can all still walk away."

The demon laughed. "I almost bought that," he said. "You had me going, Dean, you really did."

Dean's grip on the gun didn't waver. "You're in his head," he said. "You know he kept a copy around just in case. And you know you can't be sure you've got the real one."

The demon's eyes darkened to amber. "This isn't over," he said, and then Elkins opened his mouth, and a funnel of black smoke came brimming out, going straight up and disappearing through the vents in the ceiling.

Sam slammed down against the floor as the invisible grip was released, and John let out a choking cough as he looked up at Dean. "You should have shot him," he said roughly. "It doesn't matter about me. You should have shot him."

Dean looked sadly down at Elkins, before tossing the gun in his hands aside and picking the other gun up off the ground. "Wouldn't have done any good," he said. "He was the one holding the real gun."

Sam dropped on his knees beside Elkins, searching for a pulse. He shook his head when John looked at him in question, and then reached out to shut the man's eyes. Dean was watching the whole scene strangely, fingers wrapped tightly around the gun in his hands.

Mary had come to stand in the doorway, and there were tears in her eyes like she already knew.

"How did you know all that?" John asked quietly, looking back up at Dean. "How did you know it wasn't Elkins, and that he kept that decoy gun?"

"Because he told me," Dean said, and handed the gun to his father. "He was dead before we got here."


	8. Hunting 101

Part Eight: Hunting 101

Sam watched as John effortlessly grabbed Dean by the arms and tossed him over and onto his back on the mat. Dean was breathing heavily and he looked pissed. They'd been at it for hours now.

Sam had wanted to move on after they'd held their impromptu funeral for Daniel Elkins, and burned him on a pyre in the backyard. The neighbors were far enough away that they would only think they were burning off fallen branches, but it still made Sam nervous.

But his father was right, as usual. They needed to rest and regroup. They had the gun, but no leads about where the demon was. It was best to bide their time, and no better place than a hunter's house, which had more protection built right into the foundation than they could find at any Motel Six.

"Are you having fun yet?" John asked smugly, as he held out a hand to help Dean up.

Dean's eyes narrowed, and Sam could have told his father not to do that. Dean may not be a hunter but he was a firefighter, and he was no stranger to self-defense. Dean grabbed the hand and then braced his feet under John's rib cage, and tossed him in a roll straight over his head.

They both landed in a heap, and Dean rolled away onto his back, still panting. "Well, that was kind of fun," he said.

John looked a little winded himself, but he was grinning. "You know, kid, I think we'll make a hunter out of you yet."

Mary was laughing at them as she sat close by, reading something. He'd absorbed some of Dean's memories, so he could picture her in ways he couldn't before, sitting in a corner chair with her feet tucked in beneath her, reading novels, everything from romance to mystery to science fiction. She was reading John's journal, now.

"Think that's funny, do you?" John asked, pointing at her good-naturedly. "You better watch it, Mary, because you're next."

"You've never scared me, John," Mary said with a smile, flipping to the next page in his journal and not even bothering to look up. "I could take you before we were married and I could take you now."

"Only because I always let you win," John said cheekily.

Mary set the book down and glared at John with a kind of fire that reminded Sam of Dean. It disturbed him that he could see nothing of himself in her. "Okay, John Winchester. Let's go."

John grabbed her around the waist and pulled her around, but instead of fighting back all she did was laugh until he had to let her down. John dodged out of her way when she tried to shove him and then glanced at his sons.

"Hey, Sammy, why don't you take your brother and show him the arsenal, let him know what everything is for."

"It's Sam, and we left our arsenal in the Impala, and the Impala is in a storage garage outside Lawrence," Sam said.

John ran a hand through his hair. "Daniel's got one just like it, Sam," he said tightly. "It's in the basement. It shouldn't be hard to find."

Sam nodded. "Okay, sure," he said, before reaching out and grabbing Dean's sleeve to pull him into the house behind him.

Dean let himself be pulled along, smirking a little at the way Sam had done that. He had vague memories, sometimes, of standing over Sam's crib, and promising to look after him. It could only have been a few days before John had taken him away. And now here was Sam, freak-of-nature tall, and trying to look out for him instead.

"So what are we doing?" Dean asked, as Sam let him go and opened the door to the basement.

"I'm just going to show you the basics," Sam said. He hit the light switch before he went down the stairs, and when Dean followed him down and saw the room, he whistled in appreciation.

Guns and crosses and things he couldn't even recognize hung on every wall. "Who was this guy, Batman?" he asked.

Sam laughed. "You should see just one of dad's storage rooms," he said. "There's probably twice as much as this in any single one of them."

Sam grabbed a few things off the wall, and laid them all out side-by-side on the table. "Okay, so these are the basics," he said.

Dean eyed the items dubiously. Aside from the shotgun and the knives, nothing looked particularly deadly. "Hunting 101, huh?" he asked.

Sam grinned a little. "Welcome to the family business," he said.

Dean snorted, and Sam leaned over to pick up the shotgun, and then held up a round. "Rock salt," he said. "This is for spirits. As you know, they don't like salt. It's considered a pure element, and they can't hold their forms when confronted with it." Sam picked up a long thin, pointed piece of iron. "This is also good for fighting spirits. Anything iron will do. Oh, and silver bullets. Mostly these are for werewolves, but they can kill a lot of things. Shapeshifters don't much like silver, either."

"You're like a walking encyclopedia of weirdness," Dean told him, before noticing a large wooden stake. He laughed and picked it up. "What's this for, Buffy? Dusting vamps?"

Sam took it from him and shook his head. "No. Stakes are generally for Pagan gods, or tricksters. It can kill a lot of very powerful beings. Which is kind of funny, because while it'll kill them, it actually wouldn't even slow a vampire down. Best way to kill a vampire is to cut off its head."

"You mean there really are Vampires? Are you kidding me?" Dean asked.

"I was surprised about it too," Sam said softly. "But I guess Daniel Elkins hunted them almost all his life."

Mary appeared in the doorway at the top of the stairs, looking breathless and triumphant. Strands of loose hair had slipped out of her ponytail, and fallen to frame her face. "You boys hungry?" she asked. "I'm making lunch."

Dean stepped forward and looked up at her, smiling and holding back a laugh. "Did you kick his ass?" he asked.

"Do you even have to ask?" Mary asked, before laughing and disappearing back into the house.

Sam watched her go wistfully, and Dean turned and watched him. "Hey, Sammy," he said casually. "Why don't you go get some lunch?"

Sam frowned. "Aren't you hungry?"

Dean shook his head. "I want to look over all of this."

"Okay," Sam said finally, though he seemed worried about leaving Dean there alone. "I'll be right back."

Dean watched Sam until he disappeared into the main house after their mother, and then bit his lip and looked back down at the table. He was just about to give himself a little pop quiz about what all of this did, when a voice spoke up behind him.

"You're not what I expected." Dean frowned and turned to see Daniel Elkins leaning against the back wall. "You're not like John at all, but you want to be."

"I'm not like him, you're right, but you're wrong that I'd want to be," Dean told him, returning his attention to the guns on the table, and picking up the shotgun to examine.

"No I'm not," Daniel said. "We always want what we don't have. You've always wanted a father. Sam's always wanted a mother. And now neither of you know what to do with the ones you got."

"I'm not going to talk about this with you," Dean said.

"Because I'm dead?" Daniel asked.

"Yes," Dean said. "Pretty much it's because you're dead. I don't need family advice from anyone, but I especially don't need it from my own personal Casper."

Daniel laughed. "I take it back," he said. "You are a little like John."

Dean watched him for a moment, and it was hard for him to keep himself convinced that this man was dead, but if the way he seemed to flicker just a little at the edges didn't do the trick, the deadly bruises around his neck, where his head had nearly been twisted right off, would certainly have managed it. The demon had buttoned up the collar before they came so they wouldn't see it, but Daniel had stopped Dean at the door and told him what he would find inside.

Dean had told Mary to wait in the car, that he was just going to wait on the doorstep. They both knew he wouldn't wait on the doorstep, but he was gone before she could stop him, and that's when he first saw Daniel, sitting on the front step and smoking a cigarette.

"You're too late, you know," he'd told him. "I'm already dead."

"You don't look dead," Dean had said, frowning, and Daniel had unbuttoned his collar to show him the bruises.

"He's after the gun, but he can't get in the safe, nothing inhuman can. He's using me to get to John and Sam." Daniel blew a smoke ring into the sky, and he seemed almost more interested in watching it float away than what he was saying. "There's a replica of the gun, right beside the safe. He won't know the difference."

So Dean had gone in, and they'd all managed to get out of it alive. All of them except Daniel, and now Dean had to face him still. He looked down at the floor. "I am sorry," he said. "I'm sorry we didn't get here in time."

"I lived my life," Daniel said. "I've got regrets about a lot of things, but dying isn't one of them, not when it meant I could help you boys. That's all a hunter could ask for, to die for a reason. That's all most of us even want."

"What about John?" Dean asked.

"John's an exception. He's got kids. It's always different when you've got kids, and he worships you two boys. He's never gone anywhere without Sam right there, and your picture in his pocket."

"You knew him well?" Dean asked.

"No one knows him well," Daniel said. "No one except maybe Mary, and that might be part of the reason why he left her behind. He never would have been able to do the things he's done, if she'd been there."

Dean sighed. "Maybe that would have been for the best."

"There's no way to know that," Daniel said. "I'll tell you what I do know. A whole lot of people would be dead, if he hadn't."

Dean leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. The next time he opened them Daniel was gone, and Sam was standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Hey," Dean said quietly.

Sam looked uncertain. He stepped forward and held out a sandwich. "I brought you this, just in case you changed your mind," he said.

Dean took it from him gratefully, and Sam looked down at his own, like he didn't know what to do with it. "There's lemonade," Sam continued. "Upstairs. If you want."

Dean nodded. "Okay," he said, but neither of them moved.

Sam glanced slowly around the room. "I think maybe you're some kind of medium," he said, after a moment. "Ghosts can make themselves be seen by anyone, but you can see the ones that aren't even doing that, that maybe don't know how, which I guess makes them more spirits than ghosts, if there's really that fine of a distinction." Sam looked back over at his brother. "One was here just now, wasn't it?"

Dean nodded. "Strange, isn't it? That you see the dying and I see the dead."

"I don't find much strange anymore," Sam told him. "This line of work tends to mess with the common worldview."

"Yeah, I guess it would," Dean said. "I'm having trouble remembering even last week, my life before all this. It's funny because now that's the life that doesn't seem real."

"It's still real," Sam said urgently. "It matters. I'm glad that you didn't have to be here."

Sam was lying, of course. He'd rather selfishly wanted Dean here every day of his life, and when Dean gave him a strange little half smile, he was pretty sure that he knew it too.

"I know your life was hard," Dean said. "It's faded a lot, but it's kind of still in my head. It's clearer when you're here. I've never felt anything like that, what happened when I took my pendant off."

"The demon said we had a bond," Sam said. "I think he was right about that at least. I'm having trouble, you know, with all this, and with . . . our mother, I don't really know what to say to her, but I feel like I've always known you. I know it doesn't make any sense."

Dean laughed. "Aren't you the one that said strange is relative? All things considered, this is one of the few things that isn't freaking me out."

xxxxx

John and Mary were sleeping in Daniel Elkin's bed. Sam found that a little disturbing, but he was practical if he was anything, and none of them had slept last night. They were all working on empty. All things considered, he was just grateful to get a guest room.

The bed wasn't quite King sized, and Dean was eyeing it dubiously. "Maybe I should sleep on the couch," he said.

Sam shook his head, as he finished laying a salt line. "We've already laid protection spells in this room. We should both stay here."

"Right," Dean said, and sighed.

Sam watched him carefully, making sure he wasn't really irritated before looking back at the salt line. John said not to take any chances here. The demon could find them here too easily. Sam couldn't help but worry that maybe the demon could find them anywhere, but he hadn't said so.

He didn't want to think about any of that now. He wanted to pretend as much as possible, as much as he was able, that they were just some family and this was their house. When Mary had made lemonade and sandwiches earlier, it had tasted better than anything Sam had ever had.

He'd almost called her mom three times, but he couldn't seem to force himself to get the word out. He didn't want to stumble over it and draw attention to the fact that a mother was still a foreign concept for him. She was a bedtime story his father used to tell him, less real than the monster that had hidden under his bed.

It hadn't escaped Sam's notice that Dean had continued to call their father John, either.

Dean threw himself down on the bed with a sigh. "So, you think I'm ready to battle demons?" he asked.

Sam glanced at him as he sat carefully down on his side of the bed. "Honestly?" he said. "I think you've been doing pretty well even before we started explaining things to you. You handled the situation with that demon better than I did."

Dean shook his head. "I had inside information," he said. "Believe me, I was scared out of my mind, but I'm not the best poker player at my Firehouse for nothing. I've got bluffing down."

Sam grinned, slipping off his shoes and laying down tiredly. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, but he was terrified to close his eyes. He never knew what would be waiting for him when he did.

Dean's breathing evened out almost instantly, and Sam supposed he didn't have that problem. He sighed and shifted a little, accidentally bumping Dean over a few inches.

Dean groaned and flipped over onto his stomach, moving closer to the edge of the bed. "Jesus, it's like sleeping with a freaking Sasquatch," he muttered, then he paused as something occurred to him. "Hey, Sammy, there aren't actually Sasquatches, are there?"

"No," Sam told him. "I promise you, I'm as close as it gets."

Dean laughed and shoved him, and Sam didn't know what to do--he wanted to apologize, maybe offer to sleep on the floor, because yeah, he was still a little bit awestruck and he didn't want to ruin what little they'd started.

But that wasn't what little brothers did. Little brothers pushed back, so Sam did too.

And when Dean only laughed again and called him a bitch, he knew he must be doing it right.

Note: I think after nearly two years, we're finally nearing the end, folks. With any luck, this story should be finished up in about two more parts. Thank you again to you all, I think I would have given up on this story awhile ago if it wasn't for all the encouragement.


	9. Done Deal

Part Nine: Done Deal

_The place was as much a home as he'd ever had, one of the few places in this world that felt almost safe. Sam was terrified to see it now, in this way, because he knew what it meant. The places he saw when he shut his eyes were never in for anything good._

_"Bobby?" he shouted. "Where are you? Bobby!"_

_He went room to room, but Bobby wasn't there. The back door had been left wide open, and Sam slowly made his way through it to the salvage yard that lay ahead. Bobby was laid out in the back of an old pickup a few feet away, his head falling down over the edge, his throat slit one side to the other._

_In the darkness he saw a pair of yellow eyes; steady, unmoving, watching._

Sam came awake already moving. He hit the lights and grabbed his duffel bag from the floor, picking up clothes from the floor. It didn't matter if they were his or Dean's. He grabbed Dean's wrist and shook him awake. "We're leaving," he said.

Dean sat up and squinted at him, before rubbing at his eyes. "What? What's happened?" he asked, but Sam had tossed him the duffle bag and then fled into the hall.

He turned on the light in the room where his parents were asleep. "We have to leave, now," he told them.

John was on his feet in an instant, but Mary woke slower, like Dean. Sam went back to his room, trusting John to get her up as he went back for Dean. Except Dean had already finished packing their things, and was tying on his shoes. "What's going on?" he asked again.

"I had a dream," Sam said, before holding out a hand to pull Dean up and then give him a push towards the door. "We don't have much time."

John and Mary were waiting by the rental car when they got outside, and Dean threw their duffle bag in the trunk and then slammed it shut.

John was watching Sam, his eyes narrowed. "You want to tell me what you saw?" he asked.

Sam had grabbed the keys from his father's hands. Mary noticed, and ushered herself and Dean into the backseat. "We have to go now, there isn't time, he might already be there and I can't--" Sam broke off, moving around the car towards the driver's seat.

John grabbed him by the arms, and pulled him back towards him. "Sam, calm down. You need to tell me what you saw."

"Bobby," Sam said. "It's going after Bobby." Then Sam looked up, eyes suddenly blazing, his hands suddenly still, and his voice sounded exactly like John's when he said, "This time, I'm going to stop him."

John let him drive, because he didn't dare ask for him to give back the keys.

xxxxx

Sam didn't really remember the drive.

The rental car didn't have that same comfortable feeling of home that the Impala always had, but it was new and had power steering, and he'd kept his foot pushing the gas petal to the floor the whole way there. They only made it there alive because he'd gone on autopilot the moment he'd put the car into drive.

Sam didn't wait for the others. He got out of the car and ran up the porch into the house. He felt like he was still dreaming, and when he reached it, the backdoor was open just as he knew it would be. He forced himself to walk through it. Sam could hear his family running after him, and though John was shouting at him to stop the loudest, it was Dean he felt was closest. He could hear his sneakers on the ground behind him, following right on his heels.

Bobby was beside the pickup on his knees, and the demon was standing behind him, holding a knife to his throat. Sam could see in his mind the bloody line he would draw, but the first thing he noticed wasn't that, it was that he had some new poor soul now. The man was maybe middle-aged, brown hair just a year or two from going grey, eyes crinkled at the corners and heavy work boots like maybe before this he'd worked construction.

It was his laugh lines that bothered Sam the most, but he was so tired of all of this that he mostly just felt grateful--because at least it wasn't Bobby, and this way when he killed him he could just tell himself that all he'd done was set him free.

Sam didn't have all that many people in his life to care about, and this thing had been taking them all away from him, one by one, all his life. He was done playing by his rules. It was time to use the gifts he'd been given.

Sam tore his eyes away from Bobby, and looked back to the house. He listened carefully as the doors inside of it all slammed closed. The backdoor was the last one, and Dean came flying through it at the last moment, stumbling on his own momentum as the door shut and latched.

Sam could hear his parents almost at once, pounding on the door and trying to pry it open.

Sam turned to watch Dean, who had glanced at Bobby and then the demon before turning back to him. It took Dean a moment to realize that the demon hadn't put the supernatural lockdown on Bobby's house while their parents were still inside.

Sam had.

Dean opened his mouth to say something to him, but shut it before he could. He stepped slightly closer to Sam as he glanced back at the demon. Bobby hadn't moved, but his eyes narrowed as he watched them.

"What the hell were you thinking coming here, you idjit?" Bobby shouted, heedless of the knife biting into his skin. "And what's with the Ken doll?"

Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Dean," he told him. "This is Dean."

Bobby's eyes went wide, and the demon laughed. "I know, it's wonderful, isn't it?" he asked Bobby, conversationally, like they were friends. "The Winchester boys back together again."

Dean took a step forward, and Sam missed him when he reached out to try and pull him back. Dean held out his hands, palms out, and tried to look calm. "Just tell us what you want from us," he said.

"This isn't a hostage negotiation, Dean," Sam snapped, stepping after him carefully. "You can't reason with demons."

"On the contrary," the demon said. "I'm very reasonable. It just so happens that I love making deals."

"We know better than to make deals with you," Sam said with disgust.

The demon's eyes flashed as they turned to focus on him. "Oh, Sammy, you always were daddy's good little soldier, when all you ever wanted in this world was to be normal. You don't know the power you have. You don't know how insignificant you and your brother would have been without me."

Sam watched the demon's knife. There was a small pearl of blood forming where it was held at Bobby's neck. Sam's own fingers ached to reach for the gun at his waist, but not yet. He had to time it right.

"He'd of been a mechanic like daddy, you'd a been a lawyer," the demon laughed. "You would have both been miserable, in your own ways, but it would have been an inconsequential misery. At least now your suffering has reason."

"I don't give a damn about your reasons," Sam yelled. "You let Bobby and my family go, and then, then maybe we'll deal."

The demon smiled. In one swift move, he removed the knife and pushed Bobby to the ground with a foot on his neck, before dragging Dean forward with a wave of his hand to take his place. He gripped Dean's wrist with his hand and used it to pull him back against him. "You don't really think I'm letting Dean go anywhere?" the demon asked. "The rest of them you can have. I couldn't care less."

He removed his foot and Bobby pulled himself out of his reach, backing up towards Sam. Sam helped him get to his feet. "Go, Bobby," Sam said.

"I'm not going anywhere," Bobby snapped.

The demon tightened his grip on Dean, and Dean let out an involuntary cry as the demon came just one small bit of pressure from snapping his wrist.

"Please, Bobby," Sam said. "You're not helping. I need to do this alone."

"Do as the boy says, Singer," the demon said. "Or I may change my mind."

Sam didn't give him any longer to decide. The back door came open and Sam sent Bobby whirling back inside it, before slamming it shut again on all of them.

The demon grinned again, pulling Dean closer against him. "Alone at last," he said. "See, Sammy? That wasn't so hard. We're making deals already."

Sam shook his head. "I said expressly that I would only deal if you let my family go. You didn't, so we don't have a deal. You let Bobby go on your own."

The demon laughed. "Sammy my boy, this is why you've always been my favorite." He grinned. "Of course, now I'm going to kill them all."

"You're not going to touch them," Sam said. "Let my brother go."

"You're obviously misunderstanding the situation," the demon said. He adjusted his grip on Dean, before reaching out and placing a hand on his left temple. Dean started screaming the moment they touched, and fell to his knees in front of him.

Sam stepped forward, but the demon held up a hand to hold him back. "What are you doing to him?" Sam demanded.

"Me? Nothing," the demon said. "I don't have to. I can't help what he sees when I touch him. He's been sheltered too long, Sam. I need to teach him the things you learned on your own."

"Leave him alone!" Sam shouted, hand going out in front of him, working on pure instinct.

Dean fell away from the demon, collapsing on his back on the ground. The demon looked startled for a single second, and then he smiled. "You have been practicing," the demon said. "Or are you just this strong because of Dean? We always suspected."

"Meg learned the answer to that the hard way," Sam said dangerously. "And so will you."

"That's quite a temper you've got there, Sammy," the demon said. "But let's just cut to the chase. I don't need to make any deals for you. You like it, that rush, am I right? That power at your fingertips, the things you could do. I'm giving you the world. We both know you're already mine."

"You're wrong," Sam said. He reached behind him and wrapped his fingers around the Colt, before pulling the gun out to aim it at the demon. Sam had grabbed that decoy gun before they left Daniel Elkin's home. Then he'd taken the real one from his father's bag and replaced it with the copy, because he knew John wouldn't have let him have the real thing any other way.

And Sam was going to kill this demon himself. This started with him, and it was going to end with him. John could yell at him later.

The demon just laughed when he saw what Sam was holding. "Didn't daddy teach you not to play with guns?" he asked.

Sam pressed his fingers down, but the gun was flying from his hands before he could fire. The demon grinned, catching the gun midair and tossing it into the open cab of the truck behind him. Sam let out a breath. There was no way he could use his own telekinesis to get it past that demon. He'd lost his shot. He'd hesitated and lost his shot.

"I'm disappointed, Sam," the demon said. "I really thought you were the one, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should keep Dean instead. I wanted you both, but better one that's willing that than the two of you together, working against me."

Dean had pulled himself to his feet behind the demon. His nose was bleeding, leaving a trail down his upper lip. He kept blinking like he couldn't see straight. Sam prayed for him to get back down, to stay out of sight, but Dean's eyes were on the gun.

Sam couldn't even shout for him to stop, not to try it--because that would only draw the demon's attention to him that much sooner. "You really didn't plan any of this very well, did you?" Sam asked the demon, trying to distract him. "You thought what, all your little projects would just fall in line?"

The demon was grinning. Behind him, Dean had just wrapped his fingers around the gun. "You'd be surprised, Sammy, most don't fight me. They say power corrupts, you know. I know you know. You like it too. And Dean--" The demon spun around, knocking Dean to the ground with a vicious back hand. The gun went clattering to the ground, and Dean followed it down, landing flat against the dirt. "Well, he's almost as stubborn as you."

The demon kneeled down beside Dean. "You don't like it?" he asked. "Do you know what would happen if you gave in, Dean? Do you even comprehend the power you would have? All you have to do is take it. Fighting me is useless."

Dean laughed, spitting dirt and blood as he pushed himself up to his knees. "Are you for real?" he asked. "What, you terrorize my family for years and now you want to be buddies?"

The demon glared at him, rising smoothly to his feet. "You want to act like enemies?" he asked. "I'll show you an enemy." He held out a hand, and Dean let out a startled cry, his fingers digging into the dirt as he collapsed back against it. He let out a choking cough, and blood sprinkled against his lips.

Sam got up to lunge forward at him, but he hit the demon's power like a brick wall and fell back against the ground. He fought against it, but he couldn't get any closer. "Dean!" he shouted.

His brother didn't look at him, Sam wasn't even sure he heard him, at first. The he saw Dean kick out his leg. He wasn't fighting against the demon--that would have been useless. Instead, he'd hit the Colt with his foot and sent it flying halfway to Sam.

Sam reached out his hand, and closed his eyes. It took more power than he knew he had, but he pulled the gun the rest of the way. The moment he had the gun back in his hands, he heard Dean's breathing stop. Dean went still, and the demon just watched him, dusting off his hands like his work was done.

For the first time in his life Sam was grateful for his father's lessons, for those targets tacked up on bales of hay or the fences they found on old back roads. _Practice, Sammy, practice._ He hadn't missed what he was aiming for since he was twelve years old and spent four hours firing his rifles and pistols until he got it right--until his wrists ached and his fingers were calloused and he couldn't even see straight.

When the demon turned to face him, Sam raised the gun with his bloodstained hand and fired without any hesitation, watching as the bullet slammed straight through the man's heart just as easy as any target's center ring. Blue sparks crackled around him, like bottled lightening, and then he fell dead.

Dean took a long gasping breath like suddenly he could breathe again, and Sam felt all the doors open up behind him at once. He saw his parents and Bobby running out, he saw their mouths moving like they were trying to talk, but he couldn't hear them.

The only thing he could hear was Dean's breathing, and the sound of his beating heart.

* * *

Note: Only one part to go! I'm so sorry it's taking me so long between updates.


	10. Azazel

Sorry for taking, you know, years to get this finished! I've had the ending mostly written for quite awhile, but I've never been happy with it and so kept putting off posting it. But I figure by this point, it's as good as it's going to get! Thanks to everyone that read/reviewed, I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Part Ten: Azazel

Sam watched through a strange double vision as Mary kneeled beside Dean. John was standing beside her, staring at the dead man the demon had been in like he couldn't believe he was there. Bobby was still in front of Sam, with his hands on his shoulders, shaking him like he thought he was just ignoring him on purpose, or something. Bobby's mouth was opening and shutting as though he was saying something urgent, and the world rushed back all at once-sound came barreling back in and he realized that what Bobby was actually doing was shouting at him.

"Sam? Sammy? You okay, boy?" Bobby asked.

Sam nodded, and forced himself to his feet. The Colt was still clutched in his hand. He held it pointed towards the ground. "Dean?" he asked.

Mary looked up, and her eyes were frantic. "He doesn't look good," she said.

John turned to her at that, and then dropped beside them. He placed a hand on Dean's forehead, forced an eye open. Dean groaned and tried to pull away. "What happened to him?" John asked, looking over at Sam.

"The demon did something to him," Sam said. "I don't know what."

"We have to get him to a hospital," Mary said.

Sam waited for his father to tell her that it couldn't be done. John never did hospitals. He used the first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey, and there wasn't anything he couldn't fix.

Sam felt sick when John's protest didn't come. It meant that it was worse than he thought. "Yeah, we do. Sam, help me get him up," John said.

Sam and John got Dean held up between them as Mary went through the house ahead of them, and straight into the driver's seat of their rental. Sam got in the back and pulled Dean with him, settling him in his arms.

Bobby nodded to John as he moved around to the passenger seat. "I'll take care of the body," he said.

"Don't leave anything but the ashes," John told him, before slamming the door.

Mary pulled out the driveway like she was auditioning for the Indy 500, and Dean grabbed onto his hand, and looked up, suddenly awake and gasping. "He's here," he said urgently. "Sammy, he's here."

"He's gone," Sam told him gently. "Just hold on, Dean. We're going to a hospital."

"He's not, he's here," Dean said again. "He's sitting right beside you."

Sam ignored the chill against his back by telling himself it was just the cold air pressing up against the door. "Don't talk," Sam told him. "Save your strength."

"I know what he wanted from us," Dean continued. "Sam, I know."

"Dean-" Sam glanced up at his parents. They were both looking straight ahead. Mary's knuckles were white against the steering wheel. "You're going to be fine. We're almost there."

"He says it doesn't matter," Dean said. "He says it's already too late."

"Who, Dean?" John asked, turning around to lean into the back seat. "Who do you see?"

"Azazel," Dean said. "That's what he was called."

"He said you weren't going to make it?" John asked carefully. "Dean, I need to know exactly what he said to you."

Dean pressed his eyes shut. "No, he said Sam," he said. "He said it was too late for Sam."

"He's delirious," Mary said firmly. "He doesn't know what he's saying. We just need to get to the hospital."

Sam held Dean a little tighter. He wondered if he was delirious too, because he could swear that he could hear laughter coming from just behind him.

xxxxx

They rushed Dean away as soon as they made it to the emergency room doors. Mary went running after him, but John held Sam back. "Where are you hurt?" he demanded. He ran his eyes over Sam, tracing the blood as it went from his nose down his shirt and onto his hands.

"It was just a nosebleed," Sam told him. "And I got tossed around a bit. Nothing serious."

"We're getting you checked out too," John said.

"I'm fine," Sam said. "We need to check on Dean."

"Don't argue with me," John said, and passed him an insurance card. "Remember, your name is Avery Rhodes."

Sam knew better than to argue with his father, so he went into the waiting room and waited until a nurse came and called the name that wasn't his. Dean would be admitted under his real name. Sam would have to be careful not to mention that they were brothers.

The doctor took X-Rays just to be sure because Sam was still shaking so badly, but they all came back clear. They couldn't figure out how all that blood could have come from one nosebleed. Sam shrugged and told them he got them all the time. They said he should schedule an MRI just as soon as he could.

Sam promised he would, lying like the expert he was, and then quickly went back to the waiting room. John and Mary were standing in the hallway. "You check out okay?" John asked him.

Sam nodded. "Dean?" he asked.

"They took him into surgery," John said. "They think he has internal injuries. We said he was hit by a car."

Mary stepped forward, grabbing Sam and pulling him to her. "Oh, Sam," she said.

Sam was a good deal taller than her, so he hunched his head down to return the hug and tried not to notice when she started crying. He wanted to tell her it would be fine, that he knew it would be, but he wasn't sure how to explain it in any way that made sense.

All Sam knew was that he wasn't going to let Dean die, not after he'd just gotten him back.

xxxxx

It was two hours before anyone came with news. A young doctor, probably not much older than Dean, stopped in front of their seats, solemn and professional.

"How is he?" John demanded, before the doctor could speak.

"He's stable," the doctor said after a moment. "But we can't wake him."

"When can we see him?" Mary asked.

"He's still in ICU, one of you can see him now," the doctor said. "But I'm afraid only one at a time."

"That'll be me," Sam said firmly, getting to his feet.

Mary looked startled, and John frowned. "Sam, I think that Mary—"

"She's exhausted, you should take her for a coffee," Sam said. "I won't be long."

"Sam-" John started.

"Please, Dad," Sam said. "I just need a moment a alone with him, okay?"

Mary reached out to grab John's arm. "It's fine," she said quietly. "Let him go."

The doctor nodded and then led the way. "He's doing really well, all things considered," the doctor assured him, but Sam wasn't listening, he just stepped into the room, and let the doctor fade into the background with all the rest.

He looked down at his brother, before looking back up to make sure the doctor had gone. Once they were alone, he shut the door with a thought and sat down in the chair beside the bed. He leaned forward, resting one hand on Dean's forehead, and the other on his wrist.

"Dean, wake up," Sam said. Dean opened his eyes, coming awake with a gasp. Sam uses the grip he has on him to keep him still. "It's okay, you're going to be okay."

Dean's eyes focused on a water glass on the bedside table as it shook, vibrating so violently that it slipped off the edge and crashed to the floor. The lights were flickering and there was a rumble sounding from somewhere far below the foundation, shaking the hospital room so hard that plaster dust started falling around them like snow.

Then just as quickly, it stopped.

Dean turned back towards Sam. He knew without asking that Sam had done this, had brought him back somehow. He remembered being somewhere very very dark, where groups of people had closed in around him, Meg and Daniel among them, welcoming him like an old friend.

Dean swallowed to try and clear his dry throat, and closed his eyes. "You're getting stronger," he said to Sam.

"And you're getting better," Sam said, and leaned back in the chair.

Dean realized he was. The pounding behind his eyes was easing. "What happened?" he asked.

"The demon is dead," Sam assured him. "Dad and mom and Bobby are all alright."

"Good, that's good," Dean said, but even as he said it he felt a bit like he was burning. He had inhaled more than his fair share of smoke in his line of work, and this felt a little like that, like he'd sucked in hellfire and gotten it stuck in his chest.

"You said you saw the demon," Sam told him gently. "You said he told you that it was too late for me. Do you know what he meant?"

"I don't remember that," Dean said. "I'm sorry, Sam. The last thing I remember was trying to kick the Colt to you."

"That's okay," Sam said quietly. "It doesn't matter. It's over"

xxxxx

They take Dean home the next day, AMA. They don't like the hospital with all its dark corners and unfamiliar faces—they'd gotten rid of the yellow-eyed demon but that didn't make them safe.

Mary had the salt lines already drawn when they got there. The nosy neighbor was still looking out the window. This time Sam raised his empty hand to wave, and watched the curtain pull closed just as quickly as it had before.

Mary began fussing over Dean the moment they brought him through the door, so John took the opportunity to corner Sam. "You took a hell of a risk back there," he said roughly, because of course there could be no 'good job,' not even for this. Sam had come to expect nothing less.

"I did what I had to," Sam said. "It was my fight. It always was."

"When we got trapped in the house," John began, not looking at Sam, "was that him or was that you?"

Sam faltered for only a moment. "I wanted you all to be safe, and it just happened," he said. "Dean was meant to be in there with you, but he was too quick."

"Since when are you telekinetic?" John demanded.

Sam looked back into the living room, where Dean was laid back on the couch, laughing softly at something Mary had said. "Since I met Dean," Sam confided. It has always been there a little, a bit out of his reach, the potential buried by all of his fears about what he was.

Then Dean had taken off that pendant and all the lies he'd told himself had been ripped away just as easily, gone in an instant that had left him torn open, power buzzing in his ears. Sam knew he'd made a kind of bargain with the demon in that instant, when he gave into the power, and decided to use it.

"Well, maybe you should stop it," John said. "It may draw attention."

"You mean what happened at the hospital," Sam said.

"Nearly brought the place down around our ears, Sam," John said. "And that wouldn't have done any of us any good, let alone Dean."

"I didn't mean to do that," Sam said. "I was worried."

John frowned, but didn't tell Sam the fact that it was unintentional was far more frightening than if it had been planned. "Just be careful, okay?" he asked. "There's no telling what's going to happen to those powers you and Dean have, now that demon is gone."

"Okay," Sam promised. He meant it, too, and he would keep it for as long as he could. Still he couldn't turn it off—he knew that, he could feel it building in him. He remembered Meg's words: i All that power in you, untapped all these years, building up, boiling over-and that bond you don't know how to control./i

Sam waited until Mary went to make them dinner before sitting down beside Dean. Dean wouldn't quite look him in the eye.

"You said it was too late for me, do you remember?" Sam asked again. "What did it mean?"

"I'm sure it didn't mean anything," Dean said. "If that's what I said, and if I really saw him, then it was probably just being spiteful, that's all. We're fine, the both of us."

"Could you talk to him again, do you think?" Sam asked. "There's still so much unanswered about what we are."

"I know where the dead go, Sam," Dean told him. "It isn't anywhere good. If he's still around, I'm not heading off to find him."

"No, of course not," Sam said, though he had a feeling Azazel would be coming to find him.

xxxxx

John was uneasy, though he didn't quite know why. The demon was gone, his family was together, it was the absolute best possible result—it was the happy ending he'd been chasing since the start.

Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something had shifted, so he called up Missouri the first moment he got alone. "What's the forecast?" he asked her.

"If you still had that pendant, I'd tell you to put it back on him," Missouri said. "I have a feeling we've all gone and opened up Pandora's box."

"What are you saying?" John demanded.

"I can feel those boys from here," Missouri said, and she sounded uncertain. Missouri knew everything. She was never uncertain. "They're powerful, John. So strong it scares me to the core, and they're getting stronger all the time."

"You say that like they're dangerous," John snapped. "They're on our side, Missouri."

"I don't mean to," Missouri said. "They're good boys, the both of them. I know that."

John let out a breath. "Then why are you worried?"

"Because it wakes me at night, just one stray thought from Sam. I feel it in my bones," Missouri said. "He wasn't ever meant to be."

"Don't you say that, not about my son," John growled.

"I'd just watch them, if I were you," Missouri said. "I'd watch them both."

John hung up the phone without promising anything. Missouri already knew he'd be watching them anyway.

xxxxx

These days, Dean had nightmares too, but at least he didn't have to worry about his coming true. He'd still taken to keeping a knife under his pillow and when he heard the sound of that laughter he grabbed it and was on his knees, ready to strike.

The demon just tilted his head, and laughed again. He wasn't wearing any poor soul's body now. His skin was molted and charred beyond all recognition. He looked like he was covered with ash, his wings stretched out behind him—but when he smiled his teeth were straight and white.

There was still the gaping bullet wound, right where his heart may or may not have been. Sam was still snoring a few feet away, in the deepest sleep Dean thought he'd probably had for awhile.

"There's a reason I kill the mothers after the first kid, Dean. Couldn't risk the second one being stronger than me. And Sam's getting there." Azazel isn't the only one-most demons want them dead, they're dangerous. Dean realized this too, even though this part, Azazel didn't say.

"You lied to him," Azazel said. "You told him you didn't remember our little conversation."

"You lied first," Dean told him. "I wasn't going to repeat your little fantasies."

"I'm not lying," Azazel said. "No reason left to lie, not like this. I've got nothing to gain. I've got nothing to lose."

"You're still evil," Dean pointed out. "Your track record indicates you like causing trouble."

"Sam let me in, I'm part of him now," Azazel said. "He couldn't have that much power any other way. I wasn't lying, Dean. He gave himself to me whether he meant to or not."

"Are you sure about that?" Dean asked. "Maybe it was love that drove him."

The demon looked uncertain, but he was shaking his head. "It doesn't work like that," he said.

"What do you know about love?" Dean asked.

"I was an angel once," he told him. "Of all things, I was banished for love. So I know a little something about it."

"I find that hard to believe," Dean said.

"I wanted children," Azazel said. He was close enough now that he would be touching Dean if he had skin. But there's no substance to him now, just a slight chill from where they nearly overlap.

"If you say Luke, I am your father, I will-well, I don't know what I'll do, but it won't be good," Dean said.

The demon didn't seem to get the joke. "John is your father, in the way that you mean," Azazel said. "But you are my children all the same."

"You can't hurt us anymore," Dean said. "You're dead. You can't even get back to Hell."

"There's more than one kind of hell," the demon said. "Personally I'd prefer the real one to this."

"Glad to hear it," Dean said. "You deserve to suffer."

The demon smiled. It was the wings that bothered Dean the most. They were burned almost beyond recognition and one was missing most of its middle, a crescent gap right in the center, like something had taken a bite. But Dean was enough of a Stones fan to know better than to have sympathy for the devil.

"There are others," the demon said. "They'll be drawn to you. Drawn to you both. Sam's opened the floodgates, Dean. He's only going to get stronger."

"If others come we'll fight them too," Dean said. "If Sam gets stronger it can only help."

The demon laughed like he was pleased. "You were always the wild card, Dean. I never counted on you. You surprised me, I admit it. Still, you have to know you can't kill them all," he said. "Just ask Sam. He knows. He's been at this a lot longer than you, and every demon he sends back to Hell, another five are breaking out some place else."

"Sam would tell you the same thing," Dean said. "We won. You lost. Get over it."

"You think this fight is over?" Azazel whispered. Dean could almost feel his breath ghosting across his ear, like a caress.

The demon laughed and disappeared, just as Sam woke screaming on the cusp of some new vision.

And Dean knew then that it was only just beginning.

iThe End/i


End file.
